Fool's Paradise
by Alba Aulbath
Summary: The Scavengers have a series of ridiculous adventures while trying to make it back to Cybertron.
1. Bomb Shelter

**CHAPTER: **ONE - "Bomb Shelter"  
**CONTINUITY:** Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics  
**RATING:** PG-13 for various bits of mention of robot gore.  
**SUMMARY:** The Scavengers are on their way back to Cybertron. Krok is recovering from his injuries. Crankcase is grouchy. Misfire talks a lot. Spinister shoots things. Fulcrum has a few panic attacks. Grimlock is Grimlock. Some Autobots also can't let things go.  
**DISCLAIMER:** None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.

* * *

The W.A.P., as it was so fondly named, isn't an awful ship by any means. A little... okay _a lot_ dingy, hardly holding together, and barely scraping by on fuel reserves, but frankly, it's not like Fulcrum has much room to argue. They're on their way back, and he's more than glad to put a distance between themselves and Clemency. The traveling had been kind of odd to get through; Grimlock hardly reacted while he and Crankcase dragged him through the deserted planet, but his legs seemed to work just fine to walk along. Unsurprisingly, Crankcase pointed out that he wouldn't be surprised if at any moment Grimlock would snap out of it and tear them all to pieces because that would just be their luck.

"Nah," Misfire had assured cheerfully. "He'd probably just set us on fire and walk off."

With that optimistic thought in mind, they boarded without trouble to the ship. Without really anywhere to put him and not wanting to set off Spinister who was still working on repairing Krok, they kind of just shoved Grimlock into the most convenient place possible without having him get in the way.

A cleaning supplies closet.

"Well, I guess maybe he'll smell nice by the time we get to Cybertron," Fulcrum mutters to himself.

It might be a bit much to hope for, but a nice, quiet trip back home - _home_, finally - would be pleasant. It would be great and there'd be less dying and dead people and that's all pretty spectacular. For the first couple of hours? All of that had been true. Short of Spinister complaining that the ceiling sounded threatening and that he wanted to shoot it and Crankcase snapping at him just focus on fixing Krok, it'd been fairly easygoing. Much to Fulcrum's surprise, Crankcase is actually a pretty damned competent pilot. Maybe not as shocking as Spinister's capacity to be a freaking brilliant surgeon, but hey, who's counting how many surprises have been happening here?

While he'd been still exploring the ship for the sake of curiosity, as he was going to be stuck here for awhile, Fulcrum stumbles in the hallway as he hears Crankcase on their commlinks.

"_Fulcrum, get on the bridge. Misfire is driving me insane_."

"...Right, okay. How am I supposed to help?" The K-Class Decepticon squints at the hologram in his arm.

"_Probably not by much, but I won't be the only one suffering_."

There's a heavy exhale from Fulcrum's vents; he's not really in a position to argue and he gets it. It's not that Misfire's _bad_, he rather likes the talkative jet, but his focus is awful and he apparently needs to be kept busy. Leaving him in the hands of Crankcase probably hadn't been the best idea when the grumpy mech is trying to, you know, pilot.

Upon entering the bridge, Misfire's attention is quickly withdrawn from the pilot and steered right to Fulcrum, practically draping himself over the smaller Decepticon. The attention's still _weird_ and he hasn't really wrapped his processor around it yet, but all Fulcrum can do is shrug and learn when to smile and nod when Misfire begins to ramble on much ado about nothing. Eventually, the purple mech found himself becoming occupied in picking little stones from the creases along Fulcrum's plating, still chatting his one-sided conversation pertaining to a tale of Flywheels, fuzzy brown boots, and dancing, which apparently had been really hilarious at the time and "you had to be there to really get it" and "hey did anyone remember to take his feet with us, they were some incredible feet."

Fulcrum just shakes his head, flinching a little as Misfire tugs out another pebble from his back.

"Not that it makes a whole lot of sense for us to put on clothes wouldn't that get in the way of transforming?" Misfire muses, the lack of filter between his mouth and his processor extremely apparent. He pauses only for a moment before he's dragging Fulcrum to a chair and shoving him down to sit. "But you know I've heard it around at least once or twice and I guess a cape would be kind of impressive but then where does it _go_ when you transform I mean-" Misfire sits down across from Fulcrum, yanking the dud bomb-former's foot up onto his lap as he picks at the pebbles there next. "-it's gonna be basically some vehicle driving around all like _heyyyy I'm a fabulous carrrr how awesome am I_ until you trip up or it gets sucked into your turbines or whatever."

Fulcrum flinches as another pebble is pulled out, clenching his jaw to try to not laugh. That's horridly ticklish. "Obviously when we get back home, you should join the Fashion Police."

"You think there is one? There _should be_. I'd fashion the _hell_ out of Cybertron. I'd make the whole damn planet wear a cozy, fluffy jacket." Misfire flicks the pebble away, aiming for Crankcase's head, and missing entirely as it bounces off the console instead.

"Quit it," Crankcase snaps.

Ignoring the pilot entirely, Misfire works on the next piece of stone caught up in Fulcrum's heel. This time, he's unable to stifle a burst of laughter, squirming in his chair. Hardly alarmed and just grinning widely, Misfire makes a point of wiggling his fingers over Fulcrum's foot.

"H-_heh_-! Stop it!" Fulcrum snorts and tries to kick at him, but it's not very strong and the jet just gives him a big, dumb smile.

"You're _definitely_ the worst Decepticon ever," Misfire muses, finally plucking the piece of rock out.

With a sheepish smile, Fulcrum just shrugs at the purple Scavenger; Misfire flicks the pebble away and it hits the ceiling.

Suddenly, the ship hit _turbulence_ somehow, throwing both of them out of their chairs. With a grunt, Fulcrum finds himself pinned under Misfire while he hears him shout defensively, "That wasn't me! ...Was it? Crankcase?"

"Slagging..." Crankcase grumbles. "No, something tore off. We're stalled until I figure out what happened."

"That figures." Fulcrum gently shoves Misfire off of him. "What's the plan?"

"Well, idealy, I head outside and take a look. Could use a hand." Crankcase points at Misfire. "Watch the console. Don't press anything. All right? Just wanna make sure nothing is coming at us."

"Watch all of the blinking colorful lights and _not_ touch them?" Misfire gives a heavy sigh from his vents. "Okay, okay."

"C'mon, Fulcrum." Crankcase grumbles to himself as he heads down the hall with the more hesitant lanky mech behind him.

"Y'know, I'm more of a computer engineer than I am a mechanic. You're gonna have a better idea of what you're looking at," Fulcrum points out.

"Yeah, but you can follow directions. With Krok out of commission right now and Flywheels being, you know, dead? You're what I got. I sure as frag aren't asking Spinister, Misfire, or for Pit's sake _Grimlock_ for help with this."

Fulcrum rubs the back of his helm. "Eh, good point."

As the pair continue down to head towards the airlock, Spinister pokes his head out from the medbay, red optics wide in both concern and curiosity. "Crankcase? Was it the ceiling? I said the ceiling was bad. I should have shot it! It was making all kinds of noises."

"Don't worry about it," Crankcase scoffs. "Just keep putting Krok back together."

Fulcrum leans over Crankcase's shoulder to address their unusually talented medic. "How's he doing, anyway?"

"Oh, well, I got all of the holes plugged up good, so he's not leaking every where now. But, his optics are all punctured, so he's pretty much blind until we have replacement parts." Spinister scratches absently as his own chevron. "He's gonna be fine. Hasn't woken up yet, though."

There's a sudden yank on his prominent chin as Fulcrum is forced to be dragged along with Crankcase. "Well- that's good news...? _Ow_, Crankcase, I'm coming!"

Watching the pair go, Spinister mutters to himself, "I knew I should have shot the ceiling."

* * *

"Yep. Turbine tore off," Crankcase growls. "Took one of the capacitors with it. Not that we have replacements."

"So... what? You can kind of, I don't know, hotwire it?" Fulcrum rubs the top of his helm. When the other Decepticon gives him a flat, unamused look, somehow more of a scowl than usual, the K-Classer grins awkwardly. "Like I said, computer engineering. I don't know anything about fixing ships."

"Can tell you this much." With a grunt, Crankcase gets back to his feet from kneeling down by the damage. "We need replacements, and we sure as slag aren't anywhere near an outpost or a planet. This puts us in a bad situation."

"Which means what, exactly?" Fulcrum is pretty sure he knows where this is going and he does _not_ like it.

There's a snort and Crankcase starts to head back into the ship with the other mech following him. "We set up a distress signal."

Ah. There we go. He hasn't had a good little panic attack in awhile. There's a sinking feeling in his chassis and already Fulcrum isn't so sure he likes where this is going. "What...?"

"I can't yank a miracle out of my tailpipe," Crankcase tells him firmly as they head back inside.

"Yeah, well- well, what if the D.J.D. decided _hey, obviously we have nothing better to do but go back and find those Scavenger guys and maim them some more!_" Fulcrum flinches his head back at the way the other Decepticon is scowling at him. "Yeah, I know how it sounds, but you can't talk sense into pure fear, okay?"

"You didn't seem to have any problem jumping at them last time."

"I'll have you know that was probably the most heroic leap I'll ever make in my life."

The mechanic-pilot just grunts at him as they head back inside, stepping into one of the holding bays to sort through their pile of what was apparently considered useful junk. "All right. So we're gonna have to go ahead and pin this on the hull. You'll have the wonderfully simplistic job of holding it down while I seal it on there. Signal goes out and who knows, maybe someone will take pity on us before we all start starving."

"Your cheerful outlook is comforting as always," Fulcrum mutters, giving an _oof_ as a long transmitting tower is dumped into his arms. "What're we gonna do about Grimlock?"

"...Shut the door on him?" Crankcase shrugs. "I know how it sounds, but we need to keep him out of our way. Misfire wasn't wrong; he's our ticket back to Cybertron, no matter who won the war."

"All right," Fulcrum concedes reluctantly. "I'll go take care of that and meet you up top."

There's just a wordless grumble in return, which Fulcrum assumes that's _yes_ in the nicest manner possibly emitted from Crankcase. All right, then. With the tower in his arms, Fulcrum backs out of the storage bay and heads a bit further down the narrow hall until he comes upon the supplies closet.

Sluggishly, the Dynobot stares at him from where he sits. "Mm... me. Grimlock."

"Yeah, I know." Fulcrum can't even make himself sound exasperated. "Look, I gotta close this door."

"Mm...muh?" Grimlock stares at him, the noise sounding confused.

"Just to keep you out of sight." He really has no idea why he's explaining this, it's not like Grimlock understands what the slag he's saying. Still, Fulcrum feels it's more appropriate to talk to him on some normal level, even if Grimlock seems basically braindead. "Sorry," he adds sincerely. "I'll come open it back up later."

With a wince, because Grimlock is looking at him somehow with the most pathetic expression that could ever be on an infamous warrior's face, Fulcrum shuts the door. That was a lot harder to do than anticipated.

Backing away from the door, Fulcrum heads back to the airlock to catch up with Crankcase, tower in his arms. The job is as simple as described, pinning it down for the mechanic to fix into the ship and send out their distress signal. There's still a certain amount of anxiety in Fulcrum at the idea. Would there even be any Decepticon ships out here that would find them? Would they send searches? Hard to say, and he can only hope that the D.J.D. won't find them.

"That ought to do it," Crankcase mutters. "Now it's just sit tight and make sure we don't have anything else falling off out here. Think you can handle _that_, computer nerd?"

"Just making sure nothing floats off of the ship? Sounds _incredibly_ complicated, but I'll make do." Fulcrum offers a faint grin which is not returned in the slightest. "I'll take the east end, you on the west, and meet you in the middle?"

"Sure, whatever."

* * *

The work is more laboring than Fulcrum is particularly used to. Which really does put things in a bit of perspective; he's never been _lazy_, but physical activities aren't exactly what his frame was made for. Running around, picking up scrap pieces, and putting it all together to make something out of the mess - that's the sort of thing that the Scavengers do pretty much daily, isn't it? Sealing the pieces back onto the ship is a pain, but you do what you have to in order to survive.

"_Crankcase? Hey Crankcase! Crankcaaaase_."

Somewhere behind Fulcrum, he hears a _bah!_ before the pilot grumbles, "He'd better not have touched anything."

"We've left him alone for a good megacycle. I'm surprised he managed to stay still that long," Fulcrum admits.

"Crankcase! Crankcase! Hey hey hey-"

"What?" the grouchy mech growls finally.

"_So, I was looking at the console, and I was watching one of the screens. There's a green thingy and there's a red thingy. The green thingy is staying still and the red thingy is coming towards the green thingy._"

Crankcase scoffs, "What the slag are you talking about?"

Out of the corner of Fulcrum's optics, he takes notice of something in the distance. He peers out into the darkness of space, squinting. There's something... gray in the distance? Gray with a red dot on it. Real specific, but he can't make it out.

And something is getting closer. Something launched-

"_Hey, I think we're the green thingy! So the red thingy-_"

"Crankcase!" Fulcrum sputters out, pointing wildly as the launched _thing_ getting closer and closer is _very clearly_ a missile.

"Aw scrap," is all Crankcase can mutter, his tone barely more than mild disappointment.

The explosion against the W.A.P. shakes the entire ship, and all of the work that Fulcrum had just spent fixing the hull is quickly gone to waste. The boots he and Crankcase wear keep them both on the ship, but he still flails a moment in reaction, watching bitterly as the pieces float off.

"...The red thingy was a missile."

"Thanks, Misfire, we got that," Fulcrum grates out.

_"Oh hey, now there's a blinking red light! There's a button next to it!_"

Crankcase rubs his forehead for a moment. "Misfire, you're gonna listen real carefully to me. The button next to that blinking red light? I need you to press it once and don't press anything else."

"_C'mon, am I Spinister? I'm not stupid. Are we getting hailed? From the missile guys?_"

"Seems like it," Fulcrum replies hesitantly. "Are you sure we should be answering?"

"We're not in a position to turn around and show our afts like a bunch of cocky idiots," Crankcase informs him.

"Right. And I guess if they wanted us dead, they would have shot more than one explosive," Fulcrum reluctantly agrees. "All right. Guess we should head back inside."

At the grunt of agreement, the pair start to head back into the ship. At about the same time, the transmission from the distant ship begins to come through their commlinks.

"_Decepticon vessel __**Weak Anthropic Principle**__, this is the Autobot ship __**Mad Minute**__. I am the head of this team, Blithe. That missile is just a warning shot to make sure you Decepticons won't pull anything. We did receive your distress call, and we demand to be able to come aboard. We'll see where things go from there._"

"Blithe? Well, he sounds cheerful," Misfire muses as he comes to meet the other two in the hallway. "On one hand, Autobots kind of just shot at us. On the other hand, war's over. We should be fine, right?"

"In theory." Fulcrum frowns and peers down to the medbay. The door is closed, he notices. "Is Spinister...?"

"Eh, he shot the lights when they flickered, but he's fine otherwise." Misfire shrugs. "I told him to keep his trigger finger on the down-low and pay more attention to Krok before I shut the door."

"Right. Okay." Fulcrum shrugs helplessly. "I guess we should just wait here. I mean, if the Autobots won, this should go pretty okay, despite the new hole in our ship."

"Well, sheesh, when you put it that way."

The hallway goes silent suddenly. It's almost strangling, how quiet it gets when the airlock opens. Stepping through are three tall mechs, very apparently Autobot. The one in front, based on what can be told, looks like a triplechanger between some type of jet and tank bearing a bright teal color coordination. Big surprise there, really. Yet, the triplechanger has a broad smile on his face, approaching the three Decepticons with his arms folded behind his back. Behind him are what appears to be two groundpounders; one much, much less cheerful than the triplechanger including his dark gray plating, with a sour enough face to try to compete with Crankcase. The other looks mildly bored, arms folded, his paint job an eye sore of pine green, fuchsia, and orange.

The triplechanger spreads his hands out wide. "Decepticons, thank you for having us on board. I'm Blithe. The colorful one here is Petrol, and I also have Gladbag with me here. We're terribly grateful to be here in your lovely pile of recycled scrap of a ship."

"Just hurry it up," Crankcase grumbles. "We're missing parts. Didn't miss as many until you shot us."

"Well, we had to give a warning shot. War or not, who knows what you 'Cons would be up to. Though, looking at your sorry faces, I'm pretty sure that it was a waste of a missile!" Blithe gives a chipper laugh. "Gladbag, send a message to Powerthrust. We're going to be awhile."

Silently, as Gladbag turns to send a text response to the _Mad Minute_, Crankcase growls, "Are you helping us or not?"

"And why in Primus would I ever help Decepticons? Even worse, a couple of lowlife rusted heaps? You're all just objects in space." Blithe snorts in amusement to himself before glancing at the more colorful Autobot. "Petrol, bring down the stress level for these guys."

"What the hell does that even..." Fulcrum starts, but pauses. His scanners are starting to read an increase in some kind of... gas? That shouldn't even bother them, should it?

But he's quickly finding that his sensors aren't able to read directives in his own movement. He tries to lift his left arm and his knees jerk instead, causing him to stumble into one of the Autobots. Blithe, probably, from the way the laugh sounds; he's shoved back against the wall and Fulcrum collapses, dizzy, trying to sort his processor. By the sound of the other two thumps, Misfire and Crankcase must have been affected as well.

And there's clatter of a rifle.

Misfire's rifle, probably. Slag.

"You were planning on shooting us?" Blithe's voice sounds mockingly hurt. "After all of what you Decepticons have done-"

"Misfire? Crankcase? You guys still out here? I heard some..." The voice trails off. Spinister.

Damn it.

"Spin- get back in there!" Crankcase snaps at him.

Fulcrum turns his head, trying to watch what's happening. As his sight straightens and the gas fades, he sees Spinister lifting his gun, ready to shoot. Blithe just shakes his head and lowers his cannon from his shoulder mount to point at the three collapsed Scavengers. "I wouldn't suggest that, 'Con."

Spinister actually hesitates, looking between the three and the Autobots before letting his shoulders sink slightly. "Ah, slag. Just when I had some good news, too."

"Well, what do we have in here? Gladbag, go check it out. Petrol, help me escort these three idiots into that room. Might as well get the whole group together."

The darker colored Autobot slips into the medbay without any effort. Fulcrum grunts and tries not to flinch at the way he's manhandled, dragged into the medbay along with Misfire and Crankcase. Spinister, darting his optics between the Autobots and his fellow Decepticons, can't seem to decide what he should be doing.

"They have an injured," Gladbag informs Blithe, his tone deep and patient. "Facial injuries, lack of fuel. Recently mended."

"When... the frag did Autobots end up on this ship...?"

To Fulcrum's surprise, it's Krok's voice. _That_ must have been the good news that Spinister was trying to eagerly share. The Scavengers leader is back online, and at the worst time, too.

"This is getting more and more interesting. More 'Cons the galaxy doesn't need," Blithe tsks. Turning to Crankcase, the Autobot leans in closely. "Do you have anyone else on this ship?"

Crankcase grumbles, "Yer getting in my personal bubble, 'Bot."

"I see. How about _this_?" Blithe reaches in and prods at the exposed part of Crankcase's brain module, causing the pilot to flinch out of his control, some kind of spasm. "Am I close enough now?" He does it again, causing a pained yell from the mechanic, which earns an excited laugh from Blithe.

Gladbag's optics narrow, but he says nothing. Petrol's previous bland expression is now turned into a faintly amused smile.

"Crankcase-" Krok tries to budge from his position on the berth, giving a pained groan and a frantic sound from Spinister.

"What the hell kind of Autobot are you?" Fulcrum snaps. "The war's over with, isn't it? What kind of point is this?"

Well, that got Blithe's attention away from Crankcase. Yay for him, but now the focus is on him, which quickly makes Fulcrum uncomfortable. Even with the gas's effects fading, he's not in a position to fight. He's _never_ in a position to fight.

"Do you know how many good mechs are dead because of you Decepticons?" The smile is empty now. No longer obnoxiously joyful, but just... some distant cold _thing_ on Blithe's face. "I had friends at Garrus-9. The 113th Batallion. Slag, I wonder how many good friends of mine were torn apart? They laughed. They laughed and all I could do was watch, 'Con, when they found us, I-" There's a pause, and Blithe grins, baring teeth. "Don't you dare ask me _what's the point_, because all I can think of is how much better off we'd be without any of you in it."

Fulcrum knows the types of Decepticons. He knows the types, like the D.J.D., who joined the army just as an excuse to get their jollies in killing. No, he won't excuse them, but. "I didn't do anything! I've never even pulled a trigger in my life. Misfire can't shoot worth scrap anyway, either!"

"So I get a little trigger happy- well, not Spinister level," Misfire murmurs in his corner, still wobbling from the gas's effects.

"Point is, yeah, I get it, there are thousands dead on both sides. And it's over!"

Blithe is silent a moment, and Fulcrum gets the subtle feeling it's not the kind where the Autobot realizes what he's doing is just perpetuating the dead war between the factions and the Autobots leave and they can get back to Cybertron. Not with the way the cannon mount is being pointed at Fulcrum.

"This is more than just Autobots being dead," Blithe informs him, lips twitching in that unstable smile. "This is about my friends, brutally murdered."

"Blithe," Gladbag speaks up. "I don't suggest killing that one. It's a K-Class. You shoot, he explodes, and we're all dead."

Oh. _Oh_, they'd have no way of knowing Spinister removed those parts. Fulcrum almost feels some relief.

"Damn." Blithe exhales. "Well. Then I guess it's almost your lucky day, 'Con. You get to live, and figure out what it's like losing a friend."

The cannon is fired, though not at Fulcrum. Instead, the blast goes through Misfire's midsection, to Fulcrum's horror.

"Ohhh, that's not good-" Misfire mumbles, staring down at the gaping hole in his chassis before he collapses in a heap, energon draining out of him.

"Misfire!" He can't believe this. He can hardly believe this, what the hell- Fulcrum's mind is reeling. He could believe this better from Decepticons, but from an Autobot?!

"Bam, right in the spark casing," Blithe chuckles.

It's probably one of the more stupid decisions he's made. Not quite up there with _run away from battle and get arrested for cowardice_, but it's pretty bad; he can barely make his legs work, but he uses his K-Class frame to his advantage. They won't shoot something that will supposedly explode. So, Fulcrum manages to throw himself onto his feet and slam himself into Blithe almost blindly.

The Autobot curses, "Stupid slagging _chin-imposing 'Con_-" The cannon going off again. This time, it strikes a hole in the floor nearby Misfire's fallen body, a big enough gaping hole where the bleeding jet falls down it and... and to wherever. Fulcrum stares down in horror and does the stupid thing.

He jumps down the hole after Misfire before remembering, hey, that compulsion to transform into a bomb.

"Aw slag-" Fulcrum mutters before he transforms.

This is definitely going to suck-

* * *

"_Fulcrum? Misfire?_"

Spinister's voice, hushed. Coming in over the frequency. Fulcrum's optics blink online and he struggles to sit up. His joints in his left arm is a bit messed up, he's even more banged up than usual, and he kind of caused an enormous dent in the floor.

But he's okay.

"_Hey, are you guys still online?_"

_Misfire_.

Scrambling to his feet with a stumble, trying to shake off the after effects of the gas and jumping, Fulcrum spots the jet not too far off. He tries not to panic, tries as hard as he can; Blithe said it was right in the spark casing. Was Misfire dead?

"_Fulcrum_-"

"H-here!" Fulcrum manages to turn Misfire onto his back. "I'm here, Spinister- Misfire's... I can't tell if he's dead or-"

"_Ohhh, well. That's not hard. You probably don't have the equipment to check, so lean in real close and see if you can hear his vents goin', okay?_"

Lean in? Oh. Fulcrum tries to keep himself composed as he leans in, tilting his face aside to listen.

There. It's faint, but he hears the vents going. Slowly.

"Yeah, I think he's online, but he's- there's energon everywhere. Spin, where are you? I can't do this!"

"_Uh, sorry, Fulcrum. I'm hiding with Krok. After that fuss you caused, I shot out the last of the lights! Snagged Crankcase an' Krok an' we're hiding for now, but I'm pretty sure they're looking for us. ...Oh, hang on! Krok wants to talk to you._"

"Krok-" Fulcrum exhales. Trying not to panic, trying real hard. The Scavengers have been decent to him. Quirky and weird and _wonderful_ as they all are; he's not about to lose a friend because of some stranger.

"_Can you hear me?_" Fulcrum rubs his forehead. It's sobering to hear Krok again.

"Yeah. Krok, are you really in any condition to be doing anything right now, much less speaking?"

"_Don't worry about that. Look at Misfire. Tell me what's going on._"

"Well... medically speaking, he's got a freakin' huge hole in his chest and I think he's dying and I really really really need Spin here, I can't-" So much for not panicking.

"_What's causing the major leak? If he's venting, he's got a spark going. We keep him from losing too much energon, and we can fix him up later._"

"What's causing the major... did I mention the not-so-subtle hole in his chest?!" Fulcrum scrubs at his optics. "Okay, okay. I'm looking..."

Aside from the obvious blast through Misfire, there _are_ cables and wires dangling out now that are making his tanks churn. He'd seen and experienced his fair share of gore, but having to actually take a look and... and maybe reach inside. Yeah. But if he has a shot at saving Misfire...

He reaches in, following the path of the major fuel line that'd been blasted through. That seems to be where the major leak is coming from, but that and-

Something else. Something pretty important.

Fulcrum winces as he holds Misfire's mangled fuel pump. Go figure.

"It's his fuel pump, Krok. It's totalled. What the hell do I do?"

"_You make like a Scavenger and use what's available to you-" There's a pause, then a curse. "Fulcrum, the Autobots are getting closer. They called reinforcements from their ship. You stay outta sight, and we need to do the same._"

"Krok! Hey! I can't-" Fulcrum's shoulders sink when Krok ends the line. "I... have no clue what I'm doing."

Okay. Okay, think. Misfire's fuel pump is ruined and so is the fuel line. If he can somehow salvage that and keep the energon flowing through Misfire properly, then he has a shot of living.

Use what's available. There isn't anything down on the bottom deck like this, though, besides his own fuel pump.

"...Oh, you gotta be kidding me." Fulcrum groans to himself, "How am I supposed to...?"

He can't waste time wondering. He has to know how to fix this, even just for awhile. Okay, okay. He can do this. He can... he should be able to set it up so that his fuel pump can keep energon flowing for both of them. It'll mean that he's going to be literally attached to Misfire for awhile with their lines, but whatever.

This is going to get messy.

Fulcrum winces as he reaches up inside of himself, and with a jerk, he pulls out his fuel pump. He lets out a pitiful sound as he tears off one of his own lines from the pump, but keeps at least one hooked up into it. Misfire's damaged fuel pump is discarded and the lines are hooked messily into his own; murmuring an apology, he tugs a wire from Misfire's damaged body and wraps it around the lines, keeping them hooked into his pump. He feels a little light-headed, knowing his own energon is being pumped into Misfire's now, but hey. It'll do.

There's a groan from Misfire.

"Not remotely religious, but _thank you, Primus_," Fulcrum mutters, letting relief sink in. "Well. Guess you're not walking, so..."

Clumsily, he pulls Misfire onto his back. It's not the best idea, being that the jet is bigger than he is, but he stubbornly bears the weight as he gives Misfire a piggyback ride.

Misfire mumbles, partly awake, "This would be so much more awesome if I wasn't, you know, half-dead."

Despite himself, Fulcrum feels a tired, pained smile coming on. "Glad you're at least half-alive."

"Me too, Pinhead." Misfire gives a pained laugh. "Ow. Giggles shouldn't hurt that much. So... what'd I miss?"

"Not a whole lot." Slowly, Fulcrum walks down the corridor. "Autobot shot you. He shot a hole in the floor, you fell in, I went after you... we're all split up right now and we're probably going to get our afts kicked. Bright side? You're not completely dead."

"Yayyy, go team." Misfire pauses, then offers, "What about Grimlock?"

"Last I checked, he was still kind of braindead." Fulcrum sighs. "And it worked so well last time when we flung him at the D.J.D."

"Wow, you sound just as cheerful as Crankcase right about now."

While traveling down the dark corridor, Fulcrum almost jerks as the speakers nearly causes the walls to tremble with a rather familiar overly cheerful voice booming out:

"_Hiding is pointless, Decepticons! There's ten of us, and so few of you. You're all going to be dead very soon. But I can make it quick, if you show yourselves!_"

There's a shake of Fulcrum's head at the announcement from Blithe before he mutters to himself, "It's kind of hilarious how many times people think saying that is going to work."

When he doesn't receive a reply from Misfire, Fulcrum hesitates. He shifts his shoulder slightly to jostle the other Decepticon. "Misfire?"

"Mm?" Misfire exhales against him. "Heh, sorry. Everything's... slower. Haven't been this slow for awhile."

Before the circuit-speeders, no doubt.

How did that end up happening? From the lack of fuel in his body, the injury, or Fulcrum's own energon...? Damn it, he doesn't know, but he knows he needs to find Spinister to fix this. And it needs to be soon.

"Just hang in there," Fulcrum mutters quietly.

"Hey, you know what I noticed...?" Misfire's voice is quiet, half-mumbling by Fulcrum's auditory receptor. "That Autobot's just as bad of a shot as I am. Heh. Right in the spark chamber... nope, he missed. Totally missed."

"Yeah. Guess he did." Fulcrum offers up a faint smile.

It's starting to look pretty bad, he admits. Even as they finally climb out of the lower corridors of the ship and back up a level, Fulcrum is trying to think of what he could do if he ran into one of the Autobots. Which, honestly, is not a whole lot. They could overpower him physically pretty easily. Even if they didn't shoot, he knows even just one could grab him and then maybe kill Misfire or-

Scrap that he doesn't want to think about.

Maybe Misfire is right. At this rate, it's going to take forever to find everyone, and they're both defenseless. Grimlock is their only chance.

Damn damn damn _damn_.

Slowly, he inches his way down the hallway, peering around and making sure he isn't being followed or about to meet with a very nasty surprise. As he pauses and looks around, he pauses long enough to kneel down and pick up Misfire's dropped gun.

Right. Useful. Except he's never used a damned firearm before. It's... better than nothing, he supposes.

"Well. On the bright side, I can't be a worse shot than you," Fulcrum mutters.

"Whatever, loser." Though Misfire's tone is quiet, he hardly sounds offended, pushing for something lighter. He goes quiet again as they trudge along in the hallway, then eventually he murmurs, "Hey, Fulcrum?"

Fulcrum turns his head to glance at Misfire best as he can. "Yeah?"

"When... when I call you a pinhead and a loser, you know what I really mean?" Misfire pauses. "...I really mean that you're a pinhead and a loser."

There's a quiet snort from Fulcrum before he responds with, "I like you too, Misfire."

Gradually, the K-Classer manages to turn a corner; the supplies closet isn't far off. In fact, he can see where it is from where he's standing. The issue is that the door has been torn off and he's pretty sure that Grimlock isn't there anymore.

"Slag," Fulcrum hisses.

"A perfect choice of words, Decepticon."

It doesn't sound like Blithe, but it's not a voice he knows; it has to be one of the Autobots from Blithe's ship, especially since there's a gun pressed up against the back of his head. He feels Misfire twitch and hold on as tight as he can, which isn't much. Fulcrum warily peers over his shoulder, then turns around sharply; it occurs to him quickly that he needs to put himself between this Autobot and Misfire in order to keep the other Decepticon from further harm as long as he can.

Different Autobot. This one looks like some kind of airborne type. Spaceworthy. Maybe a shuttle-former. It doesn't matter; the smug look is really irritating him.

The Autobot is peering over the two of them, then lets out a laugh of amusement. "What the frag is this?" Fulcrum tries to not flinch when the fuel cables dangling out of him are being prodded. "You're both hooked up to a single fuel pump. Oh, that's just sad!"

"A bunch of Autobots picking a fight with some mechs who just want to go home - that's sad," Fulcrum grumbles.

"What was that?"

"You heard me!"

It occurs to Fulcrum that it's a step too far; maybe telling the D.J.D. where to stuff it is where he started to build a better spinal strut or something, but when the Autobot is grabbing and yanking hard on his fuel cable, Fulcrum lets out a pained yell, trembling as he drops to his knees. Misfire squirms against his back, mumbling something incoherent, but it sounds vaguely something like worry.

"I think you owe me an apology. And maybe a bit of begging, 'Con." The Autobot yanks again on the fuel line, which earns an outright scream from Fulcrum; he hasn't screamed like that since Styx. "C'mon, 'Con! What do you say?"

There's another pull, and he swears that it's nearly close to pulling off of his own body or the fuel pump and Fulcrum is downright near shrieking.

"What do you say?!" the Autobot repeats.

"Me Grimlock say, **crush stupid shuttle!**"

All three of them make varying sounds and words of shock as there's a thunderous roar and something heavy stomping up towards them.

"What the slag-" the Autobot stammers, turning around to stare.

"Oh scrap oh scrap oh scrap," Fulcrum mutters, optics wide as he sees the dinosaur stampeding up to them.

"_Awesome_," he hears Misfire remark practically in glee.

Without any hesitation, the Dynobot snatches up the Autobot into his jaws, starting to chew and crunch him between his razor sharp teeth. On the bright side, in the sheer amount of terror and no doubt pain the Autobot is going through, Fulcrum's fuel line has been released. On the other hand, he's watching in horror as the Autobot screams and energon spurts out and he hears himself letting out a terrified squeak.

Eventually, Grimlock finally throws the Autobot onto the floor, opening his mouth and letting out a spray of flames, pretty much melting the Autobot to the floor of the ship. Fulcrum deeply suspects that, probably, most likely, the Autobot is dead.

"That... was neato," Misfire murmurs into Fulcrum's shoulder.

"_Uh_," is all Fulcrum can get out, trying not to tremble as Grimlock slowly approaches them, energon dripping down from his jaw. Oh, that's not _frightening at all._

This is it. He's going to die a horrible death of being chewed on and melted and-

And Grimlock is just staring at them in his weird beast-like form, tilting his head slowly.

"...Hi?" Fulcrum tries hesitantly.

Slowly, Grimlock crouches down, leaning in to look at both of them. Then, he speaks, "Mm... me. Grimlock."

"Yeah, I know," Fulcrum sighs, more just exasperated than anything else.

"Me Grimlock," the Dynobot repeats, almost sounding impatient.

"Um... oh." Fulcrum winces a little. "Me... Fulcrum?"

Seemingly satisfied with that, the Dynobot states, "Me Grimlock, you Fulcrum."

"That was quite possibly the most intelligent conversation I've heard all day," Misfire mutters into Fulcrum's back, letting out a small laugh before flinching. "Ow. No, seriously, this _laugh means pain_ thing is a real downer."

Before Fulcrum can properly react, Grimlock is opening his jaws again and he very well near lets out a horrified scream, but fear is the only thing keeping him from making a single sound as Grimlock takes both him and Misfire into his mouth. He expects to be crushed and killed.

It doesn't happen. Grimlock is just. Holding them like this.

"This is so weird," Fulcrum groans in dismay.

"No, screw you, this is cool," Misfire tells him with a grin.

"All right, uh." Fulcrum lets out a huff of air from his vents. "All right. Misfire, do you have any idea where Spinister took Krok and Crankcase?"

Misfire squints faintly, giving that some thought. "Hm. If I were a really dumb Decepticon, where would I be... oh! Hey, I've got it. Trust me, this is the stupidest kind of brilliance. It's so _Spinister_ it hurts."

* * *

The nice and weird thing is that despite however simple Grimlock has become, he takes directions pretty well. Although it's still extremely scary as all frag to be carried in the Dynobot's mouth, they're taken to where they need to go a lot faster than if Fulcrum was still carrying Misfire on his own. Plus, well, for some reason the way they've being carried around just downright _delights_ Misfire; take the pros where you can, because the cons were pretty bad right now.

Once they arrive to their destination, there's a pause when Grimlock stops. Fulcrum can see why; outside of the airlock door, there are several Autobot corpses around.

No sign of one of the others. There's that, at least.

"Doesn't look like Blithe is among them," Fulcrum mutters. "I wonder what happened?"

"Eh, I got a feeling I know." Misfire glances at the door. "So, two cubes of energon at Cybertron says that Spinister is hanging out on the hull of the ship with Captain No-Face and Sir Grouchers. Whaddaya think?"

"Sounds like you're pretty on the ball there." Fulcrum pauses, then nervously addresses the Dynobot. "Uh. Thanks, Grimlock, but you can put us down now, all right?"

There's a deep growl for a moment, which nearly causes yet another panic attack in Fulcrum until he feels Grimlock slowly drop them to the floor. All right, good, that's clumsy but not certain horrible death.

The K-Classer drags Misfire onto his back again, stepping gingerly over the Autobot bodies as he gets to the airlock door. He brings up his commlink, trying to ping the others.

"Spinister?" he calls out hesitantly.

There's a pause, then eventually a response. "_Oh hey, Fulcrum! You're still alive. That's a good surprise; Krok'll be real glad to hear that._"

"Are you out there? On the hull," Fulcrum wonders.

"_Oh yeah, after the Autobots tried followin' us_."

"Uh. Did... _you_ kill all these Autobots?" Fulcrum finds himself asking, glancing back down at the corpses.

Spinister makes an irritated noise. "_Nothin' to be worried about. Krok says hello, by the way._"

That's a vague response. Shaking his head, Fulcrum decides he shouldn't have to worry about it. "Hey, if you're still out on the hull, can you come back for Misfire? I managed to keep him together, but... well, I'm not a surgeon and he needs one. Now."

"_Well_-"

"That needs to be now." He doesn't enjoy making orders, but he's not going to waste much more time with this. "I count about, uh. Seven dead here? That leaves Blithe, Grimlock chomped up that other Autobot... how many are left?"

"_Besides Blithe, there's Gladbag_," Crankcase grumbles over the commlink. "_That we know of._"

"Thanks." Fulcrum gently sets Misfire down to the floor next to the door. "Spinister, I left Misfire by the airlock, so you know where to find him. I'm taking Grimlock to deal with the other two Autobots."

"Where the hell do you think you're going...?" Misfire peers up at him. "We're sort of, you know, linked."

Fulcrum winces a bit. "Yeah, I know. So, this is gonna suck. Well, for me, anyway, but..."

After trailing off, he reaches down to grasp the fuel pump in one hand and his own fuel lines in the other, gripping tightly. It stings a bit like this, but... frag, it's not like he has much other choice. He steels himself, cycling his vents a few times. "So, good news is, you actually get to keep my fuel pump after all, Misfire."

And he yanks his fuel lines off of the pump, letting out a strangled, pain-filled cry; he'd prepared, but it doesn't make the hurting stop. He feels himself shaking, letting go of the fuel pump as it drops into Misfire's lap. Gritting his teeth, Fulcrum knots the ends of his line so he's not bleeding out energon everywhere.

"What the hell do you think you're doing?" Fulcrum has a hard time imagining Misfire sounding this concerned, but his focus is a bigger surprise. Maybe because of the injuries, who knows.

"Someone needs to keep Grimlock on track. We... we still don't really know how all there he is." Talking is a strain and Fulcrum is shoving his cables back into his own chest. A huge mess and if he makes out of this alive - oh he _hopes so_ - Spinister isn't going to be impressed. "Spinister's coming for you, and I need to deal with the other Autobots and wow I really don't have time to argue I feel like utter scrap."

He hears Misfire, hears him struggle to shout or move or something and Fulcrum stumbles to his feet, turning away, trying to tune him out. "Grimlock, let's go."

It gets easier after he and Grimlock both leave, since he hears the airlock open finally somewhere behind them and Spinister gathering up Misfire. Right. Better.

"Grimlock," Fulcrum starts, starting to feel himself tremble already. Without the fuel pump, the fuel isn't being distributed to his body, but he should be able to live long enough to do this. Maybe. "I have a really simple plan. Do you understand?"

"Me Grimlock. You Fulcrum."

"Right. Beautiful. Wonderful. Downright poetic." Fulcrum braces a hand to the Dynobot's side as they continue down the hall together. "I need you to follow my directions very. Closely."

He only hopes that Grimlock will actually understand.

* * *

"Okay... _okay_." The lack of the pump is overheating his systems, too, he realizes; Fulcrum's finding himself leaning against the console at the bridge of the ship, vents working overtime in order to try to cool his frame, but it's not _working_, the fuel isn't going anywhere. He rubs the top of his helm, trying to remain focused.

"Um." Right. What he was doing.

Grimlock's been told to wait elsewhere, so the bridge is empty. Just himself right now. That's about to change.

Fulcrum presses for the intercom. "Hey. Blithe. I'm waiting for you on the bridge. I'm giving myself up or... whatever. Sure. We're going with that."

Ugh. It would be a perfectly good plan if he could just- keep his focus. What's wrong with him? Is it the lack of pump? It's got to be. Fulcrum lets his forehead rest against both of his hands for a moment as he slides down to sit against the console. This has to work. He's not looking forward to dying, and he's going to try really, really damned hard not to, but Krok and the others already came to his defense when they didn't have to. Faintly, in his tired mind, he's pretty much accepted that Flywheels is dead because of him. Sure, Decepticons and Autobots have died a lot in the past, but it didn't _have_ to turn out that way.

And he's really, really not keen on seeing the others die. If he can stop that, yeah. Yeah, that'd be nice.

"It's so nice of you to wait so comfortably for me, Decepticon."

There's a shot fired. It doesn't hit Fulcrum, but part of the console by his head; it makes Fulcrum jerk slightly, optics wide as he sees Blithe head inside, Petrol behind. With his grin wide and mad and furious, Blithe is charging up towards him before Fulcrum can make himself move.

"Slag- Gr-!" Fulcrum tries to shout, but his neck is snagged by Blithe, his voicebox cut off before another word can come out.

"Do you think this is funny?" Blithe's smile is downright near hysterical as he speaks, and he's slamming Fulcrum's head against the console. "Most of my Autobots are dead - because of you! Because of you Decepticons. It's always the same, because of you slagging 'Cons!" He slams the smaller mech against the console again, sparks flying. "What do you think of that, huh?! What do you have to say?"

Fulcrum winces, struggling, his strength quickly diminishing. The lack of fuel going through his body - he feels sluggish. "G-grr-"

"What was that? Are you growling at me?" Blithe laughs sharply. "You're growling at me! Let me hear this, little 'Con!"

When the pressure is relieved off of his voice box, Fulcrum shouts as loud as he can, "_**GRIMLOCK!**_"

"What...?" Blithe's smile diminishes, looking confused at the name.

There's a loud, room-shaking roar as the ceiling collapses, the Dynobot bursting through it as he snaps at Blithe; the Autobot manages to duck away, scrambling, and Fulcrum does similarly to the best of his ability. Petrol is getting ready to attack, but Grimlock snarls and bites at the Autobot, shaking his head violently as he tears into the colorful mech.

It's a familiar scene: Fulcrum hears the Autobot screaming. What's different, though, is that Grimlock slows down and lets out a confused snarl. Petrol is limp, either injured or dead, and drops from Grimlock's jaws. The infamous warrior stumbles and walks into a wall, disorientated.

Petrol's gas. Slag, Fulcrum didn't account for that.

"What in Primus is Grimlock doing here...? Eh, no matter." Blithe is getting back to his feet. "Now, where were... we?"

Fulcrum's managed to find the strength to standing up, holding with both hands unsteadily Misfire's gun. His vents shudder and he feels like collapsing, but he keeps the firearm trained on the Autobot.

Blithe holds up his hands. "N-now... Decepticon, we don't-"

"My name's Fulcrum," the K-Classer spits at him.

"Fulcrum! Fulcrum, you don't have to shoot that gun. I can walk away. We'll never see each other again. I-"

"Shut up." There's another tremor running through his body, but Fulcrum keeps to his feet. "The war's over. I... I don't care about what happened to you, or your friends. I didn't do those things. The others- my friends didn't hurt them either. Or kill them. We didn't do anything to you. The war... is done and we just want to go _home_." He wavers a moment, shaking his head, but takes a step closer. "All I want is to live. Why the hell is that so complicated?!"

"I'll walk away! I'll just walk!" Blithe's smile is completely gone, but he's laughing nervously. "I'm begging you- I understand! You want to live, and so do I. Please!"

"The way you treated Crankcase, shot Misfire- I should. I should shoot you. Any other Decepticon would, I guess."

There's a moment in which Fulcrum just keeps the gun pointed at him. Then, gradually, he lowers it, shoulders sinking.

"Just get out," Fulcrum mutters. "Just leave."

The room is silent, as Blithe stares at him, almost confused. Fulcrum wonders briefly if he'd made any impact. He can't think of things in terms of Autobots _bad, Decepticons good_. He can't, because there are Decepticons like the D.J.D. who twisted the cause to suit their own violent needs. There are, it seems, Autobots just as awful. But it's done now. Over. It doesn't matter. They can both be free.

No, Fulcrum tells himself grimly as he sees Blithe begin to charge him again, he didn't convince him of anything.

So he shoots, pulling a trigger for the first time at someone.

The blast catches Blithe in the face, blowing off most of his head and chunks of his brain node scattering across the wall in shrapnel. The body collapses in a heap in front of Fulcrum's feet.

"O-oh... scrap." It's not the lack of fuel running through him, nor the injuries. No, neither of those things causes him to pass out.

With a loud clang, he hits the floor, blacking out.

* * *

"...so you have everything that you need, Krok?"

"Don't know about that. Crankcase?"

"Hmph. We have the missing parts and then some. Suppose the W.A.P. is a little better than when we first left Clemency, which is saying something."

"All right then. Gladbag, take the shuttle of the _Mad Minute_. We're going to have some fireworks in space. You have fifteen minutes to clear out."

"Ah. Understood. ... Thank you. I'll excuse myself."

The room grows silent, save for the sound of someone walking out. Slowly, he feels a bit more awake.

Fulcrum groans, rubbing his head; his optics turn on.

"Welcome back," Krok greets him, his tone far less harsh than the one he had with the Autobot, Gladbag.

Looking over the leader of the Scavengers is a bit odd. There's been a frame placed over most of his head, but his optics are replaced at least. Whatever healing process he's going through now, most of his head is covered up for the moment. Still, it's good to see Krok on his feet again.

"Thanks, I- _ow_." Fulcrum winces, holding his midsection. "Ugh, that stings."

"Well, I had to get you a new fuel pump. And I had to fix up your fuel lines, put 'em back all right, seal up your chestplate... so things are gonna be kinda touchy," Spinister informs him.

Fulcrum frowns. "Where'd I get a new fuel pump?"

"Oh, I jus' yanked it from one of the Autobots since they were dead and didn't need it anymore. Lucky you, huh?"

As he becomes more aware, Fulcrum sees that he's in the medbay on the only berth they have. In a corner, Grimlock is sleeping off whatever effects Petrol's gases had on him. To his surprise and nearly causing him to jerk back unexpectedly, Misfire is standing right next to his berth - being mostly quiet, even. That's rather unusual.

"So what happened?" Fulcrum dares to ask.

"Eh, you fainted," Misfire informs him. "You really are the worst Decepticon. Ticklish and fainting when he shoots someone..."

Shooting someone- _Blithe_. That really happened. "Is... he dead?" Fulcrum inquires warily.

"Oh, he was mostly dead when we got back on the ship." Krok turns his head faintly to peer down at Fulcrum. "To be honest, I debated keeping him online for awhile to make him pay for what happened. Decided to put him out of his misery instead. Figured that'd save us trouble and time. Gladbag agreed to respectfully leave, on account of the fact that he didn't participate in any of the destruction. So he's leaving the _Mad Minute_ for spare parts and taking off in a shuttle. Once we're done with their ship..."

"Kaboom!" Misfire offers.

"At any rate, I should see about making sure the ship is repaired proper."

Fulcrum struggles to sit up, but Krok is roughly shoving him back down. "You've done plenty since I've been out," Krok informs him. "And I really don't want Spinister to waste the supplies fixing you up again. Get some more recharge; Crankcase and I will finish the repairs."

There's a brief moment in which Fulcrum thinks it'd be kind of noble or something to argue, offer to help, but... but no, his body is pretty much telling him _that's enough_ and it kills him a bit to see how oddly worried Misfire is. So he shrugs and lays back down. "Sure, you got it," Fulcrum answers quietly.

"Good answer." A heavy pat goes to Fulcrum's shoulder before Krok nods; he takes his leave, Crankcase and Spinister following him.

Which leaves a bit of an awkward silence between Fulcrum and Misfire.

"Sooo. You gave me your fuel pump," Misfire points out.

"Sure did. I kind of remember screaming when I pulled that out of me," Fulcrum tells him wryly.

Misfire grins and shrugs. "Yeah, it was kind of a wussy scream there, Pinhead."

"I'll try to scream with a deeper baritone when I'm yanking fuel pumps out of my body."

"Sure, that's nice and all; it's like we have _best friends_ decals that go together, but. You know. Inside of our bodies. ...But I think I'd take the less traumatizing route and just have you be not dead. Though, if you did die, I promise to use every single part of you and not let it go to waste."

"...I." Fulcrum squints at him. "Misfire that's very, um." Weird. Odd. A little creepy. "Thoughtful of you."

Misfire laughs. "Yeah, well, hopefully you'll stay online for a long time. I kind of like you being alive."

"Yeah, me too." Fulcrum leans his head back slightly against the berth.

* * *

All in all, things worked out oddly well. Despite the attack from the Autobots, Gladbag kept to his word and left with no fight. The _Mad Minute_ had been taken apart for all that they could use for its worth, repaired their own ship, and then blew it up. As promised. The W.A.P.'s been repaired and powered back on, getting back on track. Misfire eventually had ended up passing out against Grimlock, which Fulcrum had advised maybe was a bad idea but Misfire did it anyway.

Fulcrum knows he should recharge. Knows it, but without Misfire's yammering keeping him busy, he's sunk into thinking.

Which is a little awful.

He lifts his head when he sees Krok step inside the medbay.

"Still need to be taking it easy, or Spinister says." Krok's tone implies he isn't interested in arguing with their surgeon. "How are you feeling?"

"Lousy, but alive. So I guess I can't complain," Fulcrum responds. "Though- hey. ...Krok?"

"What is it?"

"I know this is going to sound pretty lame, or- anyway." He frowns. "Before Blithe, I really hadn't shot anyone before. I... yeah, I get it, I'm a crap Decepticon, whatever-"

"I know the story. Crankcase filled me in." Krok shrugs. "Not all of us were forged to be soldiers, Fulcrum. But now you're on edge, because you pulled a trigger."

"Yeah, something like that."

"You'll deal with it." It's not comforting, not that Fulcrum's _looking_ for comfort, considering, but to be heard. Which is something he knows he can rely on Krok for. "Blithe had it coming. I was okay with doing the finishing blow, but wish I took the initial shot myself. You did what you had to, and he was in the way."

Fulcrum lets his optics dim. "Yeah. I know that. But I guess I needed to hear it."

Krok nods faintly, as lightly as he can to keep off the pain. "We're on our way now. You did all right for a _crap Decepticon_. You used what you had to around you, like any one of us would, and we made it out alive. That's a good day in my data tracks. Live with that."

And that's, Fulcrum supposes, all that he can do. He doesn't feel like he'd done something wrong. He had defended himself. Blithe put him into a corner. He'd been willing to let him go, when Fulcrum is positive any of the others would have just killed Blithe. Maybe that makes him a coward, but in the end, it was the same. That's not wrong, it's just living.

That's something he can deal with.

Right or wrong, in the end of the day, Krok is right. They're alive.

Fulcrum can accept that.


	2. INTERLUDE: Absolutely Nothing

**CHAPTER: **INTERLUDE A - "Absolutely Nothing"  
**CONTINUITY:** Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics  
**RATING:** PG-13 for various bits of mention of robot gore.  
**SUMMARY:** Krok briefly considers Fulcrum and Grimlock's place in the Scavengers.  
**DISCLAIMER:** None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.

* * *

The war's over and that still didn't stop Krok sometimes.

There are a lot of leftover feelings on the Autobots. Just because the war is over doesn't mean the hate will stop. Blithe and his crew had been proof enough that the feelings haven't died. It took all of Krok's will to not just shoot down Gladbag's shuttle anyway, but he's a 'Con of his word.

Waking up to find _Grimlock_ in his ship had caused initial fury. Why the slag would he want an Autobot in _his ship?_

Crankcase had asked Fulcrum what they should do about Grimlock, according to Spinister.

_The war's over. We help him_.

Fulcrum taking the initiative had been concerning on two levels. First, someone making decisions for the team? _Really?_ Sure, Krok was unconscious, but it still made him concerned. The other - _the Autobot._

Krok sits in the medbay, trying to not pick at the bandages around his helm. There are two mechs in his sight: Fulcrum who is unconscious on the berth, and Grimlock who's curled up on the floor in his strange bestial mode.

So maybe it was good for Fulcrum to have taken the initiative; when Blithe and his crew attacked, they probably would have been in a worse state without either K-Con or Autobot. Fulcrum was ready to sacrifice his life a second round, apparently, for all of them. Grimlock, too dumb to be vicious against the crew of the _Weak Anthropic Principle_, made sure to protect Fulcrum and Misfire, maybe due to some latent memory of Fulcrum vocalizing to help him.

Who knew, really.

Warily, Krok watches Grimlock sit up, stretching out his enormous body. There's a pause, then Grimlock noses his snout against Fulcrum's hand.

Fulcrum mumbles something wordless and sleepily pats the Dynobot on the snout. There's a pleased rumble in the Autobot's engine.

Right. No one would ever know that Grimlock had once been a fierce warrior, infamous for the way he'd viciously battle Decepticons. A brilliant soldier, anyone would reluctantly agree.

Now...

"_Hey, Krok. We're picking up a distress beacon. You might wanna come to the bridge_," Crankcase advises over the intercom.

"Right," Krok responds. "I'll be there."

Slowly, the tactician stands up. He pauses, then gives Grimlock a rough pat on the head. "Keep an eye on him," Krok mutters.

Grimlock wags his impressive tail.


	3. A Mindtwist

**CHAPTER:** TWO - "A Mindtwist"  
**FANDOM:** Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW  
**RATING:** PG-13 for various bits of mention of robot gore.  
**SUMMARY:** The Scavengers are on their way back to Cybertron. Interrupting their trip, they stop by on a planet, and need to work their way through some strange sights.  
**DISCLAIMER:** None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.

* * *

"Are you gonna sit there all day or are you gonna finish your high-grade, Fulcrum?"

The disorientating part is less the words or the faces he sees, but rather as he looks at his own arms, frowning. It doesn't quite fit in with what he's seeing, what what he's hearing. Eventually, his mind is able to put it together and determine that this isn't right. He mumbles some sort of apology, stands up, excuses himself, and slowly makes his way out of the room.

There, he can exhale, cycle his vents and know he's straight of mind. Fulcrum frowns and looks around the hallway of the suspiciously quiet ship, then down at his arms. Right, okay.

"Think," the K-Class Decepticon orders of himself in a low grumble, pacing slowly. "What happened last, and why the slag is my mind so muddled?"

All right. So they were traveling, on their way to Cybertron. Right. That sounds right. Krok is more or less better, especially after that damned incident with the Autobots, but in the midst of everything Fulcrum had been too out of it due to his repairs, they were landing and...

The rest feels like an unpleasant hum of static in his mind, not unlike when he crashed and went unconscious on Clemency when he first leapt.

"Damn," Fulcrum grumbles. Well, that's enough to work with. He brings up his wrist, the panel there flipping open as he attempts to make radio contact. "Krok? It's Fulcrum. When did we land?"

Nothing but white noise in return.

"Okayyyy? Misfire? Crankcase? ... Spinister?" Nothing. "...Grimlock...?"

All right. Why the hell is there no response? Are they hiding somewhere? No, that's ridiculous. Spinister could never stay in one place without feeling threatened, and the idea of Misfire staying quiet is hilariously impossible.

So. If they aren't on the ship...

Fulcrum looks warily outside one of the windows, and narrows his optics at the suspiciously familiar offensive sight of organic foliage. Trees and leaves and... and _gross_. Yuck. Seriously? He's pretty sure he helped cyberform a planet like this before.

Still, if he's going to find any of the others, it's probably out there.

"Great," Fulcrum mutters to himself. "You know what doesn't help? Everyone else having vehicle modes or a giant monster thing with teeth that can run way, _way_ faster than me."

Gingerly, as if the ground outside would melt his legs if he wasn't careful enough, Fulcrum finds himself warily stepping outside and trying to not cringe at the feeling of grass tickling the plating of his feet. Ugh, that alone feels weird, but there's not much he can really do about it. Not if he wants to go out and try to locate everybody else.

Fantastic.

"Where could they have-" Fulcrum starts to mumble to himself as he pushes away some bright blue leaves. He stops when something makes a grotesque combination of a noise under his foot, that of a **SQSHH** and a **CRNCH**.

Hesitantly and definitely warily, he lifts his foot up slowly in order to peer down and see what the hell made that noise. Whatever it was, it was definitely something insectoid and organic and its guts everywhere and the slime clinging to the bottom of his foot and.

It takes all of Fulcrum's will to not let out a high-pitched shriek of disgust and terror at the organic material on his foot. Instead, a series of panicked, hushed words come out in a sequence of, "OhPrimusthatissodisgusting-!" as he stumbles, hopping on one foot and trying to shake the matter off.

Which, in turn, causes him to go tumbling down a hill.

At that time, he gives out a noisy scream of dismay, hardly tough sounding at all.

Once the fall is done and Fulcrum is able to straighten himself out, he shakes his head and moves himself to sit up from his awkward angle. He dusts himself off, decidedly trying not to look at his own foot or pay attention to it because it's going to be _gross_ and give him bad shivers all around. However, he _does_ look up when he hears a very familiar giggle.

"Misf-" Fulcrum starts, then stops because he has to _stare_ at the scenery before him.

It's Misfire all right, sprawled out lazily over a berth, which looks a bit funny in the middle of a very organic jungle. Surrounding him are several stacks of energon cubes, all glowing intensely, looking well filtered and freshly generated. While Misfire is sipping on a cube, there's someone polishing his wings.

That someone is.

Fulcrum himself? _What?_

"What the hell is happening here?" the K-Con demands, staring in utter disbelief.

Misfire snorts and coughs, choking on his energon. "-Uh, _Fulcrum?_" He looks from the one cheerfully working on his plating to the other standing in front of him. "Well. This got either more awesome or suddenly very awkward."

"We're going with awkward. Where did all this energon come from?" Fulcrum peers warily at his... copy, or whatever you'd call it, as he seems to be adept at ignoring anything outside of tending to _Misfire_.

"I dunno, I just kinda found it." Misfire shrugs. "And you. You were with the energon. Or are you a twin?"

"No! I'm- it's me, Fulcrum. C'mon, I don't even know what's up with this _other_ me," the ex-technician growls, waving a hand at the other Fulcrum with lack of any other method of expressing himself.

Misfire squints warily at him. "Hmm, I don't know." He looks at the K-Classer wiping down his wings. "You're Fulcrum, aren't you?"

"Of course!" comes the cheery answer.

"See? Rather convincing argument."

"That's not even-!" Fulcrum sighs, hitting his own forehead with the palm of his hand. "Are you serious? Look, this has to be fake. I just came from the ship and I experienced some... some weird hallucination. This has to be the same, that's the only thing that makes sense. I mean- oh for crying out loud, he's pouring energon all over himself!"

Misfire is looking at the copy very attentively. "He surely is."

"Don't you want to lick it off of me, Misfire?" the oddly cheerful version of Fulcrum coos at the jet.

"No he doesn't!" Fulcrum practically shrieks.

"I don't? I mean, uh, of course I don't! Bad, bad Fulcrum." Misfire finally tears his optics off of the hallucination of the K-Con. "So you're saying this is all fake?"

"Yes! Yes, I am." Fulcrum rubs his helm. "Though I have _no idea_ why you'd ever experience a vision of me tending to you so..." He trails off, then peers at Misfire. "Why _would_ you experience a hallucination like this?"

"Um." Misfire bites his lower lip. "OhheyIthinkIhearKrokcalling!" Transforming into his vehicle mode, the jet takes off into the sky.

"Get back here! MISFIRE!" Fulcrum growls and throws his hands up into the air. "Are you _freakin' kidding me?!_"

As soon as the jet leaves the area, despite his annoyance Fulcrum is able to take notice of a simple fact: the illusion dissipates completely, leaving behind just the organic foliage. The stacks of energon cubes and his ridiculous double are all gone. Whatever that means, anyway; Fulcrum's aware it was all fake, but how it happened and _why_ is still escaping him.

At the very least, he can hope that the others will be more reasonable than Misfire. ...Well, maybe not Spinister, whatever the frag he ends up seeing, but at the very least upon finding Misfire temporarily, he must be on the right track.

Even if he'd found the jet technically by accident.

Eh, technicalities.

With a sigh, Fulcrum presses on in his on-foot journey in a continued attempt to locate the rest of the crew. Which is irritating, but at least there are signs to follow a bit easier the more foliage. After all, Misfire's the only one that can fly, and the big stomping footprints left by Grimlock are pretty telling. The broken branches were probably also left by the Autobot, Spinister, or both of them.

So there's that.

Shrubbery are shoved aside and suddenly, Fulcrum finds himself in another hallucination. He frowns, stepping carefully as a rather convincing _click clack_ of metal plating is under his feet, apparently. He's in a ship, Imperial class by the looks of it. The bridge of it. In the front tending to the main consoles are...

Hey, is that Shockwave? Yeah, that's Shockwave and Sixshot and a lot of other Decepticons that Fulcrum recognizes as high ranking officers.

"Captain," Shockwave calls out. "The Autobot ship is requesting a merciful surrender."

The captain's chair turns and sitting there is _definitely_ Crankcase, his helm suspiciously repaired and his plating polished and gleaming. In his lap is a recently groomed turbofox. He points out to the screens. "Mercy? I don't think so. Activate the _Superduper Blastoff_'s cannons."

"...Superduper Blastoff," Fulcrum repeats out loud, squinting.

"It's a good ship name," Crankcase snaps defensively, then peers at Fulcrum. "I'm pretty sure you're not part of the crew."

"Got it in one. And I'm pretty sure you don't actually own a ship, especially not one called that." The K-Con rubs the back of his helm. "C'mon, Crankcase. You remember? Krok and the others?"

"Way behind me." Crankcase peers out the window in satisfaction as the Autobot ship explodes gloriously. The turbofox in his lap makes a pleasant barking noise as he scratches it behind the ears. "I've got my own ship now."

"The war's over, you know. Why the frag would you be attacking an Autobot ship?" Fulcrum gestures out the window.

The pilot scowls more than usual in Fulcrum's direction. "Like I need a proper excuse, or are you forgettin' what happened with Blithe and the others?"

Fulcrum shakes his head. "I'm not forgetting that or even what our own Decepticons are like now. Look, tell me this: who repaired your helm? Because it sure as hell wasn't Spinister."

There's a deep frown on Crankcase's face, more than usual. Slowly, he reaches up to touch his own helm, then jerks his hand back. There's a growl of frustration before he's shoving the illusion of the turbofox off of his lap. It squawks, scampering away as Crankcase is standing up, looking around the ship.

"Can you remember what happened before you ended up on this ship?" Fulcrum asks him warily.

The mechanic goes silent for a moment before snorting and nodding. "There was a distress beacon. I told Krok we should probably just ignore it, but he wanted to check it out anyway. We landed and... that's about when things turn fuzzy."

"I don't remember at all," Fulcrum confesses. "But you know this is fake, right?"

"Gettin' that idea," Crankcase responds gruffly. "I'd never have a ship this nice anyway. Where's the way out?"

There's a pause of consideration before Fulcrum is holding out his hand, loosely taking the pilot by the wrist and guiding him down the steps and towards the back of the bridge. Gradually, the further the pair part from the bridge, it's noticeable how the illusion fades.

With that, Crankcase's more typical appearance is back to normal: the awful head injury and plating scraped to being raw metal, rough and unruly. Not unlike the rest of the scavengers.

"Crankcase?" Fulcrum still decides to ask warily.

"I'm here," the pilot snaps impatiently.

Yeah, that's definitely him. Fulcrum shrugs helplessly. "I really don't know how we ended up here. Do you remember?"

"I do now, mostly." Crankcase looks around the area. "You were still in the medbay, recovering from the operation. We caught that beacon that I mentioned. Krok, being the big fraggin' softie he is, had me land the ship. As soon as we did, that's when these illusions started up."

"I had one," Fulcrum admits. "Where do you think it came from?"

"Hmph." Crankcase folds his arms. "Thinking about it now, that beacon type was outdated. I just assumed it was due to the fact that the ship itself was probably an old one, not unlike our wreck of shuttle. ...You worked on cyberforming planets, right?"

"What about it?" That was a life Fulcrum's pretty ready to leave behind, considering all that's happened. Not his favorite subject; far too many complicated feelings come with it, and discussing a matter of personal emotion isn't exactly high up on topics for Decepticons, even Fulcrum.

Crankcase snorts. "Well, in case you didn't notice, loyal Phase Sixers were kinda hard to come by. Rumor has it, there was a project that was started up. A machine that was supposed to deal with the sentient life in the simplest way possible."

"I... really don't like where this is going."

"Good, because it's gonna be as bad as it sounds." Crankcase shakes his head. "Some nut called it the Cerebnum. You ever hear of it?"

Fulcrum scratches the back of his helm. "Sort of? Just the name. Not even really gossip." Maybe due to his age. Frankly, in comparison to the rest of the Scavengers, he's not even very old, but that's not really a topic he's going to hop into.

"The idea was that it was supposed to make its targets complacent under a hallucination that'd match their deepest desires. While trapped in the illusion, it was the job for everyone else to wipe out the sentient life." Crankcase turns his head to look down into the jungle. "Heard it was a great big malfunction. It couldn't keep from projecting on Cybertronians, so they had to dispose of the entire project. Seems like based on that, it's a fair guess that'd be here it was thrown onto."

There's a skeptical look from Fulcrum, his optics squinting and his head tilted just so. "So you're saying that there's this machine projecting everyone's deepest desires to them and they're trapped in this hallucination. I sort of get that, considering..." The former technician trails off, then his yellow optics widen in realization. "Wait a fragging second, what the hell does this say about Misfire?"

"What?" Crankcase snorts, looking down at the K-Con.

"Er. Nothing. Never mind. A-All right, so we break everyone out from the illusion and leave this planet as soon as possible." Fulcrum coughs into his hand and looks away. "We should probably just keep following after the trail I followed. Kind of hard to miss Grimlock and Spinister's tracks."

"Y'don't say." With an irritated wave of his hand, Crankcase takes point and leads the two of them. "So you ran into Misfire?"

"Before he flew off, sure," Fulcrum mutters. "Dunno where he went off to."

"Anyone else?"

Fulcrum shakes his head. "No, just you otherwise. The ship was empty."

A curious but nonetheless grumpy glare is given over Crankcase's shoulder. "So who got you out of your illusion?"

"Myself. I..." Fulcrum glances away. "I got myself out of it. I don't know, a part of me was able to tell something was off, so I got myself out of it. It didn't seem right. Suppose if we're speaking in how this Cerebnum works (that's still a really stupid name by the way) it might have something to do with how I was reformatted."

"Eh, whatever the reason, you're here now." Crankcase turns his head back around.

Gradually, as the pair make their way through the forest, they find themselves at a fork in the path, as it were. Somewhere along the way, Grimlock stomped his way off into the west and Spinister, the big lug of a medic, found his way to the east. Crankcase hemmed and hawed, folding his arms and narrowing his gaze. Similarly, Fulcrum finds himself putting his hands on his hips and sighing as he tries to consider who to go after first.

"I guess we need to consider who's gonna do the most damage," Fulcrum mutters. "Spinister or Grimlock."

Crankcase replies with a guffaw. "There's a fraggin' contest I don't wanna witness. At least Spinister's got a grasp of grammar."

"You two."

Both heads turn in the direction of the voice, finding themselves looking in the face of their commanding officer, seemingly not bothered by any potential hallucinations. Krok and his very familiar bandages wrapped around his helm is seen shoving branches out of the way, peering at Crankcase and Fulcrum for a moment before apparently satisfied with whatever he'd been briefly calculating.

"Good to see you back on your feet," Krok addresses the K-Con. "But we have a problem."

"What do you mean?" Fulcrum frowns.

Krok inclines to the west with his head. "You hear that?"

As Fulcrum stops to consider what Krok might be hearing, he listens to it as well. It's a loud roar, practically vibrating the ground underneath his feet. Any other variation of the sound would cause a wary laugh and a suggestion of retreat or hiding from the K-Con, most likely. Or at the very least, nervous glancing about. However, he _knows_ that exact pitch pretty damned well by now, so all it does is earn a jerk of familiarity and a downright near concerned look.

"Grimlock!" Fulcrum realizes. Probably the only time in which Fulcrum doesn't cower from a roar or snarl of any kind. Before Clemency, he probably wouldn't even be inclined to have a bout of lack of fear in regards to the Autobot warrior, but considering how things have been working out so far, it's hard to even think about shying away or turning his back on the Dynobot now.

Which explains why he bolts _towards_ the sound with a brief surprised noise from Crankcase.

"Fulcrum, stop-!" Krok starts, then sighs and follows him. "Crankcase, go after Spinister!"

"Fine by me! Have fun getting chomped," Crankcase grates out before taking off to the east.

Unlike the other strange hallucinations in which stepping into it had been seamless, the sensation of stepping out into the opening and entering Grimlock's illusion causes a strange jolt of electricity running through his plating. Visually, the images are flickering, like some interference going on as static blares through. There in the midst of the clearing is Grimlock in his strange animal-like mode, swinging his head and letting out an enraged, guttural noise. The images surrounding him are other Cybertronians in similar enough animal-based forms, at least one of them with some sort of flight capability. The others are of varying sizes, one with a long neck, another with three horns, and the last with spikes on a swinging tail.

The way the hallucination seems to be malfunctioning is causing a bad ache in Fulcrum's helm, though he's not sure if maybe that's the cause of Grimlock's reaction at the moment. Either way, the Dynobot is relentlessly stomping around, displeased and upset.

Fulcrum begins to step forward, only to have Krok snag him by the wrist. "If you go out there-" the war historian starts.

"He'll recognize me. I'm the only K-Con around here, so my frame kinda sticks out," Fulcrum informs him. "And if I don't, what the hell are we gonna do? Wait until he wears himself out?"

There's a bit of hesitation from Krok, then the commanding officer gives a heavy exhale from his vents. The look he's giving Grimlock as the Dynobot continues his wordless tirade is both distrusting and wary. "This isn't a good idea, but we don't have a lot of other choices considering we're lacking crew. If he looks like he's going to attack you, I _will_ shoot him."

"And if it comes to that, I hope that won't just make him more upset," Fulcrum responds with a nervous chuckle. "Thanks, though."

Slowly, Krok releases Fulcrum's wrist, watching the K-Con make his way to slowly towards the giant Autobot. Snorting and biting at the illusions before giving a low, growling whine, Grimlock turns to face the K-Classer.

In return to staring down those two flaring red optics, Fulcrum holds up his hands in a surrender position. "E-easy! Easy now, Grimlock. It's me."

No words are given in return. Grimlock opens his massive jaws and roars instead, stomping forward and marching up towards Fulcrum in a blind rush.

"Fulcrum!" Krok warns.

"Wait wait wait! Grimlock! Me Fulcrum! Remember?!" Frozen in his spot, Fulcrum keeps his arms up and his optics widen.

Abruptly, the enormous Autobot stops in front of Fulcrum, shoving his nose into Fulcrum's hands like some giant nuzzling _pet_. Another almost agonized whine mixed with a furious snarl emits from the Dynobot. "You... Fulcrum," Grimlock acknowledges. "Me Grimlock, head full of bad."

"Um, hey." A light, awkward pat is given to the front of Grimlock's snout. "It's all right. Walk with me and I'll help you from the bad stuff, okay?"

"Not them others," Grimlock huffed in a way that Fulcrum can't quite grasp. Whatever this hallucination is supposed to be, it's not working; it's glitching and only serving to anger and confuse the Dynobot.

"Right," Fulcrum slowly agrees. "It's fake. Let me get you away from it, Grimlock. Just watch me. _Follow me_."

Carefully, cupping his hands under Grimlock's jaw, he starts to guide the Dynobot away from the flickering illusion of the other Cybertronians. He can feel the difference when they all breach the... _field_ or whatever it is as they all manage to exit it. The strange electrical tingle and something like relief as the pressure is relieved from their processors.

Fulcrum peers over to where the unstable illusions had been originally. They're gone now, completely.

"All right, big guy." The K-Con gives a light pat to the front of Grimlock's snout. "The bad things are gone."

Pulling away from Fulcrum's hold, Grimlock slowly turns to face where the illusions were. A distressed snarl is rumbled into the air, degenerating into a weary huff before Grimlock snaps his jaws a few times. He lowers his head, shoving his nose against Fulcrum's shoulder.

"Well." Krok snorts a little, putting his rifle away. "I gotta say, apparently you have a knack for giant braindead Autobots or something."

Hesitantly, Fulcrum keeps his hand up to the Dynobot's jaw, lightly giving him reassuring pats. "Funny how that ended up working out. You okay, Krok?"

"Aside from you nearly making me feel like my head was going to spin from all that with the Autobot?" Krok shrugs one shoulder. "About as well as I've been since we talked last. Sometimes I'm not so sure you were convicted for _cowardice_."

There's a stutter in Fulcrum's intakes, then he coughs sharply. "Nope, definitely was. Grimlock's... just not all bad. He was a big help when Blithe and his crew were on the W.A.P.; dunno what I would have done without him."

"Either way, doing fine. Just sick of this place already." Krok sighs. "Suppose I should have listened to Crankcase, but I wasn't expecting all of this illusion nonsense."

"How'd you end up getting out of your hallucination, anyway?" Fulcrum raises an optic ridge curiously.

There's a brief bout of silence and Krok looks down at his hand before clenching it. "Let's just say I had a pretty good feeling it was fake. Turned out I was right. Anyway, we should try to catch up with Crankcase and make sure he and Spinister are all right. Have you seen Misfire?"

"Er." Fulcrum warily nods. "I did, but after he realized it was an illusion, he took off. I haven't seen him since. Sorry; it's not like I have a vehicle mode that could follow him."

"He'll be back soon enough." Krok turns his head towards the path they'd come from. "C'mon, get your Dynobot moving."

In return, Fulcrum nods and lightly nudges Grimlock. "Follow me, big guy. We'll get off this stupid planet soon."

"Stupid planet, put bad feeling in head," Grimlock growls, snorting against the K-Con's shoulder. Obediently enough, the Autobot waits for Fulcrum to take lead before he slowly follows.

The walk, it seems, takes a bit longer; Spinister had made it further than Grimlock, wherever it was that their wayward medic ran off to. In front of him, Fulcrum hears Krok muttering some passing, concerned words, disliking how his group has dispersed, especially unwillingly. The kind of concern Krok takes to his crew isn't a trait that the K-Con's seen in many Decepticons and it's part of why he's quietly found value in the scavengers; they're good mechs for all of their flaws and quirks. Krok's sincere concern over his crew, even warily with an Autobot, is endearing.

In turn, Fulcrum doesn't have to wonder too hard what Krok must have seen due to the Cerebnum, what he must want deep down.

Eventually, Krok stops mid-walk, which forces Fulcrum to take pause and wordlessly slow Grimlock down. With a frustrated grumble, Krok finally announces, "Trail stops here." He points up to indicate destroyed branches. "He must have taken off in his vehicle mode."

"Okay, so where the hell did Crankcase go?" Fulcrum points out.

"Fragging..." Krok lifts his wrist, activating his internal com. "Crankcase, where the slag did you get off to? Crankcase!"

"Krok, I'm pretty sure the signal's blocked. Crankcase had a, uh. Theory about what's going on." Fulcrum scratches absently at his own helm. "That there's a machine generating these illusions. I already tried contacting everyone when I first woke up, so I'm pretty sure that any radio waves we try to put out are going to be blocked or maybe even overwritten; this machine's putting a lot of effort into putting a signal directly into our brain modules."

At the explanation and assessment, Krok gives a thoughtful _hmmm_ before glancing back towards the Dynobot. "Doesn't seem like the illusions are so flawless."

"I'm not sure," Fulcrum admits. "I'm not exactly an expert on brains, but maybe Grimlock's too, uh. Hurt in the head for it to work too well on him." The words are chosen carefully, considering the presence of the Autobot. _Braindead_ is probably the word Fulcrum had wanted to use.

"Still doesn't help us find Crankcase or Spinister. But maybe something else can." Krok opens his wrist paneling. "There was that beacon. If we follow it, we might end up finding either of them. Maybe Misfire, too."

Curious, Fulcrum gets onto the tips of his feet to try to look over Krok's shoulder to see what he's doing. "That's not a bad thought," he agrees slowly. There's a pause as Grimlock mimics the K-Con, looming over both of the Decepticons until Krok scowls over his shoulder.

"You two mind giving me venting room?" Krok grunts.

"Er, sorry. C'mon, back up, Grimlock." Gently, Fulcrum nudges the Dynobot, who gives a low rumble in his engine before taking a step back - which is quite the distance considering his size.

"So this machine making these illusions." Krok is tilting his head as he's finishing up the adjustments in his wrist module to track the beacon. "What's the purpose?"

Briefly, the K-Con finds himself splitting his attention by making sure Grimlock isn't straying too far and responding to the officer. "According to Crankcase? Generating your deepest... I don't know, desire or. Or something like that. Something to keep you complacent long enough."

"Suppose that makes sense." Krok sighs a little. "Couldn't tell you what Spinister's gonna end up seeing. So you'd better be prepared."

That's not too hard to imagine, though it earns a grimace. Fulcrum isn't looking forward to the violent-prone medic's illusions. Considering how he sees everything as a threat and wants to shoot at inanimate objects that "look" at him funny. The hallucination must be full of all kinds of destruction. Probably dead bodies everywhere or... or something. Ugh, it's going to be bad and Fulcrum kind of hopes he has the fuel tanks for it.

"All right, I got a fixation on the beacon. Let's move," Krok orders.

The officer's eagerness to get his group back together is shown easily when Krok takes off through the foliage. Letting out a squeak of surprise, Fulcrum tries to catch up after the tactician, hearing the thundering steps behind of Grimlock easily keeping up.

Show-off Dynobot, Fulcrum can't help but think to himself with a grumble.

There are a lot of things that Fulcrum thought he was prepared for. The most likely outcome to Spinister's potential hallucination he figured would have been the violent type. You know, body parts everywhere, splashes of energon, a big ol' battlefield. Spinister's not the sharpest, but he can be big and scary in his own right.

So this is kind of. Yeah. Kind of weird.

Stumped as hell, Fulcrum watches the colorful landscape. No longer the overwhelming foliage of this gross organic planet, but now cartoonish crystalized plants grow out from the ground, bursting with rainbows. The sky is clear and blue with puffy little pink clouds; hanging in the sky as well is the sun, but it suspiciously is wearing a pair of dark eye-wear and bearing a jolly grin of some kind.

Oh, and there's a little river of glowing energon. _What the slag, even_.

And there's Spinister, just sitting in the middle of it all, looking wondrously at his own illusion.

"Wow, this. Explains so much, and yet so very, very little."

Fulcrum double-takes as he glances towards the source of the voice. "_Misfire?_ Where the slag have you been?"

Stiffly, the purple jet jerks upright from where he'd been sitting and observing Spinister. "Well! You know, around. Don't look at me like that!"

"Like _what?_" Fulcrum huffs.

"That's enough, you two," Krok orders sternly. "_**Spinister!**_"

The medic jerks his head up and looks towards their commanding officer. "Hey, Krok! You know, you and Fulcrum really shouldn't be wandering around out here."

"I appreciate the concern, but we should get back to the ship. Don't you think?" Krok folds his arms.

"Yeah, I guess so." Standing up from his spot, Spinister approaches easily enough, not putting up a single fuss about being pulled out from the hallucination. "So where's Crankcase?"

"That's what I'm working on. You just worry about following me." Krok peers at the rest of the group. "That means all of you."

Wordlessly, the tactician is taking Spinister by the hand and guiding him out of the illusion, who in turn just seems confused as to why the weather is different and the river is gone. Shaking his head, Fulcrum gets Grimlock to follow him and gives Misfire another look.

To which the flier shrugs and sighs, "What? C'mon!"

Shortly after leaving Spinister's weird-as-hell illusion, Fulcrum scowls at Misfire. "You kinda just left me behind after I found you."

"Well, I was in a very compromising- a very unusual position."

"I'll bet it'd have been weirder with that other Fulcrum you imagined up," Fulcrum mutters.

"_What?_ It was fake! What are you so worried about anyway, loser?" Misfire's wings are twitching, a little agitated.

"Do you know _why_ you had that illusion, even? It was generated because it's based on personal desire. What's that say about you?"

Misfire lets out an awkward laugh. "Well, it just. It means it could have been anyone! Yeah, not just you. Anyone would have worked. I mean, really - I just really like energon. A lot. You know that."

There's a moment in which Fulcrum wants to call out Misfire on that. Really, if it could have been anyone, why not just have an illusion for _everyone?_ Maybe he's just reading into it. Even if Misfire flew off into a hurry, who wouldn't have been embarrassed?

Fulcrum sighs and lets it go. No, he's over thinking it. "My bad. Just don't ditch me like that, all right?"

"Right, sheesh! I'm sorry already," Misfire rubs the back of his helm.

There's a soft grunt behind the both of them and Fulcrum turns his head to see Grimlock turning to look at something above the trees. Of course, unlike most of them, Grimlock's just tall enough to see over the foliage anyway, so the enormous Autobot is noticing something.

"Grimlock?" Fulcrum calls out for the Dynobot.

The Autobot just snorts, nostrils flaring, very apparently distracted. At the very least, he's obedient enough to keep following.

And when the group circles around some branches and bushes, it becomes clear enough what Grimlock is seeing.

"Slag," Fulcrum mutters, optics wide.

"Uh, that's a word for it," Misfire more or less agrees.

Even Krok's taken a moment to pause and peer at the display. The clearing is large enough to accommodate and then some, and considering what's in view, it makes enough sense. There are several ships here, though many look outdated, rusted, and enough plant-life decided to make its home here over all of them.

"Seems like the beacon called for more than just us for help sometimes," Krok mutters, squinting behind his bandages. "This could be a really great find, or..."

"Waste of time."

A negative remark with a hint of a _harumph_ at the end? Undoubtedly Crankcase. All optics glance over to their mechanic and pilot, who's coming out from one of the ships.

"Told you to find Spinister," Krok informs him firmly.

"And I did, until the trail went cold. Followed the beacon and it brought me here." Crankcase lifts his chin, frowning a fraction more than usual. "I haven't found the ship with beacon yet. Didn't figure it was a safe idea alone. But most of these ships have been stripped of anything useful. Fuel's gone, so are a lot of components. Hulls are rusted out and we'd have better luck jamming a tree into the W.A.P. than using the plating I've seen so far. Might be some medical supplies, if they're not useless."

Just their luck, Fulcrum thinks a bit glumly.

"Any survivors?" Krok decides to inquire.

Crankcase scoffs. "Not so far, and I'm thinking _no_. I've seen nothing but bodies so far. Organic and Cybertronian. All of 'em starved to death, just lounging where they were stuck in their illusions, I'm guessing."

"But there's _someone_ stripping the ships of useful items," Fulcrum points out. "Someone's still alive here."

"Something," Crankcase reminds him. "I'm tellin' you, it's gotta be it. The Cerebnum."

"That's still a dumb-"

"Look, whatever." Crankcase folds his arms. "Doesn't matter. We're all back together, so we can bail."

There's a moment of silence as all optics turn to Krok, who seems to be considering something deeply. Their commanding officer gives a hum of thought, clenching and unclenching his hand.

"Aw scrap I know that sympathetic look anywhere," Misfire bemoans to himself.

"That beacon's still gonna play even after we leave," Krok mentions. "We need to take care of that first before any other poor spark ends up here. We got lucky. Obviously others haven't been."

Some could confuse Krok's sympathetic behavior as being soft or gentle; it's an endearing factor about their commanding officer and they all knew it. He was stern when he needed to be, good at keeping his group of misfits together and making sure they got what they needed as best as he could work with.

Then there's this, the honorable notion to make sure no one else would end up here like them and to take care of the beacon that'd very well near trapped them here. This kind of trait was one of the reasons why Fulcrum had been endeared to the group when they met on Clemency. Sure, they're a bunch of weirdos, but they'd a _decent_ bunch of weirdos.

"Fine. I'm sure we can take care of it, then get the frag out of here," Crankcase grumbles.

"Besides, if you're right, it's at least worth checking to make sure we haven't missed a thing useful item. Maybe worthwhile bodies." Krok shrugs. "Misfire, Crankcase. Go keep looking. Crankcase knows where he left off. Can you keep Grimlock in line?"

"Easy enough." Misfire shrugs.

Fulcrum frowns and folds his arms. "What's the big idea?"

"If we're keeping the fragging Autobot, he needs to get used to other crewmembers. He can't just take orders from you all the time," Krok informs the K-Con. "All right?"

"Yeah, I guess that makes sense," Fulcrum replies with a sigh. "Fine. Grimlock, you remember Misfire, right?"

The Dynobot tilts his head. "Him Misfire?"

"Good. You Grimlock follow him Misfire, okay?"

There's a small rumble of brief confusion before Grimlock is shoving his nose against Fulcrum's shoulder. There's a gentle pat from Fulcrum before he shoos the Dynobot to the talkative jet.

"No worries, I'll take good care of Grimsie," Misfire assures with a brilliant grin.

"Yeah, yeah. I know." It's probably ridiculous to worry about the big dumb Dynobot, but the K-Con can't really help it; he's getting pretty fond of the big lug.

Giving a satisfied grunt, Krok motions for Spinister and Fulcrum to follow. "We're going to take care of that beacon. Crankcase mentioned the Cerebnum."

"Er, yeah." Fulcrum pauses, then frowns as he starts to trail after Krok. "You aren't even wondering what that is. Am I the only one who's never heard of it?"

"Crankcase has a lot to say when you get him going on some subjects." Krok shakes his head. "Yeah, I've heard of it. Wasn't sure it was real, but we have some pretty compelling evidence now that it is. That happens a lot."

Either way, Krok manages to lead the way through the ship graveyard of sorts; eventually, they come upon less of a ship and more of a shuttle. Once a deep rich violet color, now faded and graying and rusting.

Before going inside, Fulcrum takes a moment to press his auditory sensor to the door, frowning. "There's... there's still an active generator inside," he notes out loud. "Maybe from the beacon, but I doubt it."

"The Cerebnum. That nails it." Krok approaches the door. Closed, and locked to boot. He gives a sigh and motions for Spinister. "Mind convincing this to open up?"

"Felt like the door was givin' me a funny look anyway." Somehow, the remark didn't surprise Fulcrum; both Krok and the K-Classer find themselves backing up as Spinister takes his rotor and jams it into the seams of the door. Satisfied with how much he's loosened the door, Spinister jams his hands into the seams and tears the door off, throwing the slab of weakened metal aside.

Slowly, the three Decepticons creep into the shuttle. After the initial entrance way, there isn't much more to explore other than the main room of the spacecraft; here, there is the piloting console, with some pretty lifeless corpses long since rusted out. Anything left of energon is unlikely, though no doubt Misfire will take the time to check that later.

Otherwise, there are three curious factors. There are a couple of generators set up, energized and in pristine condition. A valuable find, if the way Krok's optics are glowing a little more intently is any expression. Fulcrum can't disagree; functional generators? Yes please and thank you; maybe he's been spending already too much time with the scavengers, but he's finding his own fingers are twitching curiously. The second factor? Some drones in decent enough condition are working to keep the generator functional and fueled, which explains why the ships were so stripped of their... well, everything.

The third and final factor, the main one as it were, is what's glowing before the three of them. In a large, circular containment glass is a large device. It looks like a floating orb with a series of notches in it, little glowing nodes. Below the orb is a stand with several thick cables attached, where they run to be connected to a separate computer console. It seems the generators are being used to keep this device active.

It's also where there's a blinking beacon is set upon.

"Well. That's interesting," Krok remarks.

"Hell of an understatement," Fulcrum mutters, his optics wide. "Is that the Cerebnum?"

"Looks like. Can you imagine how much energon's in the generators?"

"The real question being, who programmed the drones to make sure it could keep up with the upgrades and keep this fueled?" Fulcrum raises an optic ridge. "This seems like a well laid out trap."

Krok shrugs. "Sure. Put up a distress beacon, keep the crew occupied, and take their supplies and fuel. Though who placed the set up? Who knows."

"You know, it wasn't until Clemency that I started getting into a habit of finding weird ships with ... _strange_ stuff like this. Doesn't beat brains on a ceiling, I guess, though."

"Welcome to the crew. Things like this happen more often than they ought to." Krok rubs his chin. "No, Spinister, you don't get to shoot the Cerebnum."

"Damn," the medic sighs. "Why not?"

"The containment field would just absorb your firepower," Fulcrum points out, giving the set-up a scrutinizing look. "And, by the looks of it, if you tried beating it to, er. Death? You'd just get electrocuted, getting stunned _at best_. We _could_ destroy the generators, but you could say bye-bye to that and the energon - and probably the whole shuttle."

"Not very favorable," Krok comments. "You're a technician forged. Can you deactivate the Cerebnum so we can disconnect the generators safely?"

Fulcrum approaches the computer console, tilting his head, then nods. "Sure. I'll deactivate the beacon first, but shouldn't be a problem."

"Make it happen."

This is a little more into his comfort zone. Relaxed as he approaches the console, Fulcrum starts to get to work, pulling up some menus. To his surprise, even the programming seems curiously up to date. Nothing about this save for the model of the shuttle seems very old. Maybe a few centuries off, but that's not _bad_ and perfectly workable. Did the drones update this automatically with the equipment stolen? How would the drones be that sophisticated?

Out the corner of his optics, he can see Krok exploring the rest of the shuttle and Spinister muttering as he crushes some of the drones under his feet. Otherwise, Fulcrum focuses, frowning as he shuts off the beacon, outright deleting any programming that insists on its function. The beacon is old, the console is not. The programming is not. How is that even possible? They haven't run into any survivors.

Slowly, it occurs to Fulcrum. If the Cerebnum is programmed to display holograms and illusions of a person's innermost desire, doesn't that essentially mean... _mindreading?_ Something like that. And if that's possible, it could read the minds of other visitors that had been here. Enough to upgrade itself.

Is it that sentient?

A loud hum abruptly emits from the glowing orbital device in the room and it starts to spin slowly, its power strong enough to cause a vibration to the entire shuttle.

"Fulcrum?" Krok calls out warily.

"I didn't activate anything-" the K-Con starts, just as confused.

It hits him abruptly. His receptors are screaming in pain, and it's all too familiar as to why. There's the memorable smell of energon, fresh and old and congealed, and his entire frame aches. When Fulcrum looks down, he recognizes his _old_ plating, before the forced reconfiguration into the K-Class.

His hands and feet have gaping holes, bleeding.

Everything about Styx rushes back to him and Fulcrum shrieks before he can stop himself. It feels like he's back on the traitor's wheel, slowly being pulled apart. Panic rushes through him, fear consuming; his spark flutters. He feels himself collapsing to the floor, shaking as he stares at his own hands.

"Fulcrum!" Krok is kneeling down, reaching for him.

The ex-technician flinches back. "Please don't!" he finds himself begging, feeling familiar shame bubbling up inside at his own cowardice.

"All right, easy." Krok holds up his hands. "I'm not going to touch you. But you need to listen to me. This isn't real, Fulcrum. That's not even your frame anymore."

"_I know_, but I can't- _I just can't!_"

Cursing quietly to himself, Krok glances between Fulcrum and the generators before he tilts his head down and scowls. He holds out his hands. "I really need you to trust me right now, Fulcrum. Look at me. _Don't_ look at your hands." Fulcrum winces, trying to swallow back a pathetic whimper. "I need you to take my hands right now."

A small shiver passes through Fulcrum before he hesitantly grabs onto the tactician. Satisfied, Krok jerks his head towards the medic. "Spinister, shoot the generators. We're going."

Without questioning, Spinister takes out his rifle and immediately opens fire upon the generators. There's a small spark between the generators, a small indication of the impending explosion. Satisfied enough with his handiwork, Spinister follows Krok out, who works on guiding Fulcrum away from the shuttle.

The explosion is impressive as the Decepticons watch. Whatever hold the Cerebnum had on Fulcrum is gone and the K-Con glances down at himself miserably.

Krok places a firm hand to the K-Classer's shoulder; there doesn't seem to be any amount of blame that he has for Fulcrum in regards to the loss of the resource.

"C'mon. Let's check in with Crankcase and see about getting off this damned planet," Krok offers.

Fulcrum glances at the burning mess of the shuttle, then sighs. "Yeah. Yeah, I guess that sounds good."

* * *

Though the shuttle had been a loss, Misfire had been able to scrounge up enough energon to spare for a cube each. Sort of a morbid celebration of getting off the planet and deactivating the beacon. Spinister himself had bundled up the medical supplies that had been found into his arms almost _way_ too cheerfully, giddy at the addition to his humble medbay.

There's no blame. Krok doesn't even mention the hallucination to anyone else and Spinister is probably too confused about what happened; he'd been told to shoot the generators, so that was clearly the right decision, why blame anyone for anything? Nobody else knows, and Fulcrum supposes he's grateful, but he can't help but bear some guilt. He already feels some from Clemency, and he'd hoped to be more helpful since considering the trouble he's caused from the D.J.D.; his inability to cope with what the Cerebnum forced upon him has cost some resources that could have been really useful.

Krok had been shooed away to the medbay as soon as they got back to the W.A.P., giving a sympathetic glance to Fulcrum. If he had any intention of providing some inspirational words, it was going to have to wait until Spinister was satisfied with Krok resting first.

So instead, the K-Con had some time to feel bad for himself.

Miserably, he's sitting in the engine room, legs drawn up to himself. He's hungry enough, but he hasn't really touched the cube Misfire gave him, instead tracing the top with a fingertip. If Fulcrum could mope any harder, he supposes he'd spontaneously cause a raincloud or something in the middle of the ship.

He ducks his head a little as he hears the door open. Cautiously, he peers over his shoulder to see Misfire coming in.

Fulcrum sighs. He really doesn't have the energy to interact with him right now.

"Hey, you haven't... really touched your energon," Misfire notices, peering over the K-Con's shoulder.

"Nope," he mutters sourly.

"What's the matter, Fulcrum? You, uh. Feeling crummy?"

The forced pun just makes the ex-technician sigh and shake his head. "Now's not really a good time, Misfire."

There's a pause, the awkwardness hanging in the room. Fulcrum really didn't want anything else other than to feel terrible for himself and steep in that for awhile. Misfire being present and pestering him wasn't going to make that easy.

And the fact that the chipper jet wasn't leaving was not helping that goal of _must feel bad for self_.

Eventually, Misfire leans down enough to rest his chin on Fulcrum's shoulder. "Y'know why you're the worst Decepticon ever?"

"Misfire, I just said now's not really-"

"'Cuz you're all these, you know, things. Nice and friendly and one other thing." Misfire sets his hands to Fulcrum's waist. "And ticklish. You're that, too."

"Don't you dare-!"

But it seems that despite Fulcrum's attempts to stay miserable, they don't last. Once he feels Misfire's fingers wiggle over his abdomen, Fulcrum can't bite back the giggles forced out of him. He struggles, trying to bat away the damned jet's hands, but fails on all spots as Misfire tickles with sheer determination.

"Okay, okay- _stop!_" Fulcrum wheezes through his vents in a stupid giggle fit.

"That's more like it." Satisfied, Misfire looks at Fulcrum's energon. "Y'gonna drink that or what, Pinhead?"

"Yeah, yeah. I'll get to it." Most of his desire to sit and feel horrible for himself has been killed. Fulcrum huffs a little, picking up his cube and giving Misfire a _look_. "Thanks, I think."

"Hey, well. Whatever's botherin' you..." Misfire shrugs a bit, as if he's not sure, for once, how to put his thoughts to words. "You just didn't look like yourself. You're gonna confuse the big idiots like Spinister and Grimlock by lookin' like that."

"And you're not a big idiot?"

Misfire puts his hands on his hips. "Well, now that's just hurtful. I think someone needs more-"

Fulcrum shrinks back in his seat. "If you say _tickling_, I'm gonna ask Spinister for my original fuel pump back!"

"_Jeez_, be that way." The mouthy jet sits himself down next to the K-Con. "So here's a question. All those weird illusions everyone had. What was yours?"

"It's..." Fulcrum sighs, peering down at his cube. "It's really, really not important now, is it?"

"You got to see just about everyone else's! C'mon."

"It really..." Fulcrum traces his thumb over the top of the cube.

It doesn't matter, the way he sees it.

"Fine." Misfire sighs, a little over-dramatically. "Are you gonna sit there all day or are you gonna finish your energon, Fulcrum?"

* * *

There are two things he'd like more than anything.

First, he'd like his old frame back. Sure, his old alt-mode wasn't impressive, but it was better than being a dud bomb. That and he liked his old color scheme. He wasn't _always_ a scraggly K-Con. No, Fulcrum had been a not-as-scraggly technician once.

The second is that he wants to be back on Cybertron, without anyone ordering them around. He wants to be home, safe, with these average, strange, unusual, and brilliant Decepticons, over a nice cube of high-grade.

It's how he'd known the difference, really.

"Are you gonna sit there all day or are you gonna finish your high-grade, Fulcrum?" the illusion of Misfire had said.

It was at that point that Fulcrum paused, mumbled an apology, and excused himself from the room.


	4. INTERLUDE: Battle of Twits

**CHAPTER: **INTERLUDE B - "Battle of Twits"  
**CONTINUITY:** Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics  
**RATING:** PG for big dumb robots.  
**SUMMARY:** Misfire and Fulcrum have a wrestling match. Spoilers: Misfire wins.  
**DISCLAIMER:** None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.

* * *

Misfire's bouts of interactions with Fulcrum range from weird to affectionate to back to being, uh, weird. The jet is ridiculous and at times he shows bits of brilliance and others are like this.

"I'm gonna get'cha, Fulcrum!"

"Augh, stop it! You idiot!"

For about thirty seconds if not less, the pair are wrestling. Fulcrum, by no means a combatant of any kind loses really damn quickly and finds himself on the floor, pinned down awkwardly with Misfire sitting on him and holding his ankles.

"Uh. Hi. You can let go now," Fulcrum suggests as sweetly as he can.

"Nuh-uh, I got you. I got your _toesies_."

"My..." Fulcrum squints at him. "Are you stupid? Those are my feet!"

Misfire just gives him a bright grin. "They're toesies! Look at these toesies. They are the cutest toesies."

"They're not- _hahaha_ holy CRAP stop tickling me!"

"This little toesie went to the market," Misfire coos, wiggling his thumb over the bottom of one foot. "This little toesie went and became a bomb!"

"You're the worst!"

Abruptly, the pair go into silence as Krok stands in the doorway, sort of squinting at the two of them for a moment. Slowly, he narrows his red optics to peer at Fulcrum and Misfire's situation, then sighs heavily and just says, "**No**." Turning, Krok continues down the hallway.

"This little toesie did... something else!" Misfire continues on.

"Haha _I only have two feet you jerk_ hehehe STOP TICKLING ME!" Fulcrum shouts after their commanding officer desperately, "Krok! KROK COME BACK AND HELP!"

"And this little toesie went allllll the way to Cybertron!"

"_Stop tickling my toesies!_"

Down the hall, Krok just sighs and shakes his head as the ship echoes with Fulcrum's indignant shouting and gigglefits as Misfire continues his harmless torment of the K-Con.


	5. INTERLUDE: Planning Ahead

**CHAPTER: **INTERLUDE C - "Planning Ahead"  
**CONTINUITY:** Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics  
**RATING:** PG for big dumb robots.  
**SUMMARY:** Misfire, Krok, and Crankcase have a conversation about what they'll do when they get back to Cybertron. With Misfire, it's probably a one-sided conversation.  
**DISCLAIMER:** None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.

* * *

"So I was thinking about when we get back to Cybertron. No no, just hear me out! I mean, there's gotta be a lot of stuff we can do when we get back. Just think of all the possibilities! When we get back I thought _well maybe I could work at a bar_ but, psh, I'm sure someone's opened up something by now. Post-war crazy times, I'm sure all anyone ever wants to do is get overcharged and forget about the whole thing or whatever. Talk about depressing! Then I thought _well if stuff is so depressing, there should be something more cheerful_ and I decided maybe I could open a petro-rabbit petting zoo or some scrap. But that's soooo much work! Then I thought about a firing range-"

Crankcase snorts at Misfire. "Because _that_ would work out in your favor."

"I was just thinking about it," Misfire mutters. Almost immediately, he perks right up. "What do you wanna do when we get back? Well?"

"Depends on who's won," Crankcase grates out. "If we got a bunch of Autobots waiting there or whatever happened."

No, none of them have felt very optimistic about the Decepticons winning, but they don't know enough to say anything _definitively_ about how things have turned out either. Who the hell knows?

"Oh c'mon, no excuses! Angry 'Bots awaiting us or happy 'Cons or angry 'Cons _whatever_ what have you always wanted to do? Tell me tell me tell me-"

Crankcase shoves Misfire back into his seat. "Shut it," he growls. "Anyway, that's none of your business."

"What? I told you all my ideas!"

"I really can't think of anything you've never told me, with all your yammering."

Misfire frowns briefly. Then he glances across the bridge to their leader. "Hey Krok! What is it you want to do when we get to Cybertron?"

There's a considerate pause, then a half-shrug. "Didn't give it much thought."

The tactician turns and leaves the bridge, trudging down the hall to head to the cargo bay.

He's thought about it briefly, what he'll tell the others when they all reach Cybertron. Krok knows what he needs to do. Keeping secrets is not a habit of his, particularly, but he hasn't felt that disclosing the information to his bunch of misfits is important just yet. No, he needs to keep this ship going until they reach their destination.

Krok looks down, clenching his fist.

What he'll do when he gets to Cybertron. He knows.

Krok has no intention of staying.


	6. INTERLUDE: Sharing is Caring

**CHAPTER: **INTERLUDE D - "Sharing is Caring"  
**CONTINUITY:** Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics  
**RATING:** PG for big dumb robots.  
**SUMMARY:** Misfire goes missing. Fulcrum finds him.  
**DISCLAIMER:** None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.

* * *

When all is quiet on the _Weak Anthropic Principle_, that means something is terribly wrong. It means a lot of possibilities. Maybe Misfire got himself stuck halfway into a vent somewhere and talked to himself until he passed out. Maybe he ran into a wall and knocked himself out. Sleeping? Oh hell no, he takes _fifteen minute naps_ and he's right back to chatting up a damned storm with the next available person. It's utterly ridiculous.

So the fact that the entire ship has been silent for two hours has caused a search for the jet by panicky orders from Krok. Not that he _sounded_ panicked, but it's hard to not get that sense with the grim tone that he has whenever he's overly concerned for his unit.

"Where could he have..." Fulcrum trails off to himself, then pauses as he sees Grimlock flopped in front of the engine room floor. It's a strange position that the Dynobot has taken, nose shoved against the bottom of the door and his tail slowly wagging.

Hmm.

Without much fear of the Autobot, Fulcrum approaches and gives him a pat on the neck. "Hey. What's in the engine room, Big Guy?"

Grimlock gives a heavy huff from his vents, bumping his snout against Fulcrum's hand. Slowly, the Dynobot rises to his feet. "Him Misfire."

Huh. Good to know that if any of them go missing, apparently Grimlock can just sniff them out. A light pat goes to Grimlock's nose before Fulcrum helps himself inside. "Misfire?"

A response is a low, raggedy moan.

Oh, that does _not_ sound good. Frowning, the K-Con steps inside and finds the jet huddled up right behind the warm engine, whimpering miserably. "What's gotten into you?"

"Fulcrum, _I'm dying_," Misfire mutters in the most pathetic voice that the technician's ever heard. "I feel awful and I'm _dying_ I just know it."

"You're not dying." Fulcrum sighs and rubs his helm, watching the usually eccentric scavenger crawl and flop around on the floor melodramatically. "Let's just get Spinister to take a look at you, all right?"

"_Noooo_, just leave me to _die._"

With a shake of his head, Fulcrum helps Misfire to his feet. Fortunately, Grimlock is able to actually help with the carrying, considering the fact that Fulcrum's stature is not exactly suitable for much heavy lifting. He calls in to the others, assuring that he's found their wayward jet, and calls for Spinister's assistance. After some checking of vitals, some _hmm_ing and _huh_ing, the medic is able to make a conclusion.

"It's a mild virus," Spinister concludes with a shrug. "His anti-virus software will kick in and knock it off on its own. He's just gonna feel like scrap for awhile."

"Figures. Probably got it from drinking something you shouldn't have," Crankcase snaps. "At least we'll get some fraggin' peace and quiet for now."

As the others shuffle out with undoubtedly better things to do than listen to Misfire moan and whine about how he feels, he reaches out and snags onto Fulcrum's wrist. "W-wait, Fulcrum."

"Uh." Fulcrum raises an optical ridge, gently prying Misfire's grip off of him. "I really have some work to do."

"No, please," Misfire practically begs. "Stay. Just in case I _die._" At the last word, he flops a hand to the berth.

The K-Con can't help but roll his optics a little before he sits down by him. "Fine. I'll stay. Just for awhile, though."

"Wow I feel _great_ funny what a little bit of rest will do but I feel utterly _smashing_ and hey Fulcrum? Loser? Why aren't you saying anything?"

"Ugh, I feel _terrible_," Fulcrum groans into his hands.

"Well, he was pretty contagious," Spinister points out. "How long were you with him?"

"Nearly the entire time? He wouldn't stop complaining every time I got up. He was _needy._" Fulcrum sighs. "This is awful."

"Well! The day is young! See you, pinheads!" Misfire practically dashes out of the medbay.

Fulcrum sputters, then shouts, "You _glitch!_ I- oh, ow ow, it should not hurt to talk. No wonder he was quiet the entire time."

After some coaxing to settle down from Spinister, Fulcrum lays on his side, dozing off. Like Misfire, really the only thing he can do is let the virus run its course and have his software kick in against it. Not much else can be done about it.

The next time he wakes up, he blearily sees a purple jet setting a cube of energon by his side before running out of the room. Fulcrum lays his head back down and smiles a little.


	7. Countdown

**CHAPTER:** THREE - "Countdown"  
**FANDOM:** Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW  
**RATING:** PG-13 for various bits of mention of robot gore.  
**SUMMARY:** The Scavengers stop on a station to sell some of their junk. Spinister takes a count and the numbers are confusing. Someone looks at him funny and it's terrible. Fulcrum is still afraid.  
**DISCLAIMER:** None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.

* * *

Every bit of him is built for bulk. Besides Grimlock, Spinister is the largest of the crew and has been always since Krok had found him some planets ago. All of him, which made him a pretty decent grunt. No, Spinister probably isn't really the best soldier of all time, but he's got the power behind it, the size behind it, and he does all right. He remembers, distantly, about the gladiator fights going on back before the war. _That_ kind of raw skill he doesn't really quite match, but still, all of him had been forged with strength in mind.

All of him, but his hands.

His fingers bend on his right hand, and he squints his optics.

"One, two, three, four, five..." He trails off for a moment, turning his head to looks at his left hand. "...Six? Or was it seven."

Six or seven. That seems troubling and he can't really remember the total.

"_Attention please, every loser and pinhead in the ship! We'll be docking soon at the Jennix Spaceport! Whatever scrap you got that might be worth something might be a reeeeeally good idea to bring forth right now. Get yourselves- ACK!_" One.

"_Quit messin' around on the comm,_" Crankcase snaps. Two.

The medic finds himself standing up, slowly stepping out into the hallway of the _Weak Anthropic Principle_. Mindful of the mostly-melted corpse of an Autobot still stick to the floor, Spinister steps over it automatically, having memorized its location. That and focus to his hands are far more important. He's still counting after all.

"Are you kidding me?" he hears Fulcrum complain from the open door of the engine room. "I haven't even been anywhere besides that damn planet with the Cerebnum. I can't even leave when we dock?" Three.

Krok's more familiar gruff voice comes trailing after. "This is an independent docking station ran by neutrals. We're lucky enough they're taking in a Decepticon vessel. There's no need to get them worked up over a K-Con, disarmed or otherwise." Four.

"If they're independents, they might not even recognize my frame. Blithe wouldn't have known until his medic spoke up."

"And if they do?" Krok points out patiently. "Don't get too worked up over this. Grimlock has to stay behind, too. So do I."

"Me... Grimlock stay?" Five.

Fulcrum sighs. "Yeah, you're staying, Grimlock. With Krok and me."

"Me Grimlock stay."

Spinister stops as he walks by the engine room. Five. He's up to five. Carefully, he points to himself.

"Six," he mutters. "Seven?"

That doesn't seem right. No, he miscounted.

He considers a moment. Krok staying behind is for the best and per his suggestion. Sure, Krok's tough, and that's not ever even a question. But there's also the aspect that Krok is more interested in avoiding confrontations for the moment. _A lot of reasons, don't concern yourself over the details_ Krok had said before to him, which is fine, Krok knows best. Yet, at the same time, he fidgets at the idea of not being able to keep a proper optic on their injured leader.

That, and. Well. Krok is usually pretty good at prodding and reminding him. It was a tough decision, anyway. Krok didn't seem real happy about staying behind either while they split up.

Moving his feet again, Spinister works his way up to the bridge. He's counting, recounting, and it doesn't seem to be doing him any good. The count's always off, whether it's six or seven, and he can't make up his mind about it.

"I have enough to do without you screwing around up here!" Crankcase snaps at Misfire. "I'm trying to dock this big pile of scrap that's barely even worthy enough to be called a _ship_ into the port, and I don't need you to-"

"Hey, Crankcase. Before you punch him," Spinister interrupts, holding up his hands. His left index finger bends and unbends as he can't make up his mind. "Is it six or seven?"

"What the hell are you even on about?"

"Is it six or seven?" Spinister repeats impatiently, narrowing his optics.

Misfire and Crankcase exchange glances. Then, with a sharp grin, the jet offers, "Why not eight or nine, Spin? How about forty-two?"

"No." That's just getting him angrier. "Six or seven."

"Look, I don't even know what you're trying to _count!_" Crankcase scoffs.

"Maybe it's how many nodes are still functioning in his brain," Misfire muses to himself.

"Forget it, I'll go ask Krok," Spinister grumbles, turning around and trudging his way back down the hall. "Six, seven..."

Trailing back towards the engine room, the medic finds himself pausing in the doorway, his broad shoulders not quite brushing against the frame but downright close to it. No, he doesn't see Krok and Fulcrum in the room anymore, but he hears them somewhere further down, maybe Fulcrum trying to plead his way off the ship for even just awhile and Krok refusing because even Spinister knows it's a terrible idea. K-Class wandering around on the station? Yeah, no.

But he sees Grimlock in his weird beast form curled up against one of the hot engines. If there's one thing that he'd noticed, it's that the Dynobot definitely appreciated a warmer climate, which doesn't make sense much because they're Cybertronians. What do they care about temperature much?

Still, it's worth a chat briefly.

Spinister crouches down in front of Grimlock, holding out his hands. "Six or seven?"

Grimlock lifts his head, staring back. "Me Grimlock."

"Uh-huh." Spinister frowns a little. "Hmm. Maybe it's just six. But that doesn't make sense, does it?"

"Me Grimlock?"

"It should really be seven. No, no. Wait. Six? Oh hell, maybe it really is _five!_"

"Me Grimlock."

"I know, it's a real thinker," Spinister agrees miserably.

"Me Grimlock," the Dynobot offers.

"It should probably be five. No offense."

Fortunately, Grimlock does not argue the point. He simply peers up at Spinister from his spot on the floor, watching the medic step out from the engine room. Continuing on, Spinister has a new debate in his hands. Five, six, or _seven?_ This is getting bad.

"How many pit stops are we going to make on the way where I have to huddle up with Grimlock and hope nobody sees us?" Fulcrum complains as he follows Krok up the hallway. "I can't just stay on this ship until we make it to Cybertron!"

"Fulcrum, this _really_ isn't up for a debate." Krok's stern tone is starting to turn impatient. Spinister knows that tone, though Krok usually only starts sounding that way with Misfire. "When I said you're staying on the ship, I meant you're staying on the ship. Grimlock is definitely staying no matter what, and _I_ have to stay so we don't look too pathetic."

"Krok," Spinister speaks up, cutting his way into the conversation.

Both K-Con and commanding officer stop the argument and look up towards their hulking medic, who looks from his hands to the pair almost desperately. "Five, six, or seven?"

"What's he talking about?" Fulcrum mutters to Krok.

Spinister flexes his fingers, concerned as he stares down at Fulcrum. "Four...? No, wait. Krok, which is it?"

Before much investigation can be given to Spinister's question that seems to trouble him so, the ship trembles slightly as it finally docks its way to Jennix Station. A firm, solid grip makes its way to Spinister's upper arm. If it'd been anyone but Krok, Spinister probably would have at least punched them if not shot them.

"We'll talk about that when we're off the station," Krok informs Spinister. There's no room for doubt, as Krok always keeps his word. It's spoken like a promise.

It's not quite the answer Spinister had been hoping for, but it's better than nothing.

"Everyone, get your afts to the cargo hold," Krok calls out on his commlink. "That includes you, Spinister. Let's go."

With no argument, Spinister moves to the cargo bay, glancing around for a moment until he locates his box. He peers inside, then nods, satisfied. "You're all accounted for," he murmurs to himself.

"I don't know what the big deal is about this station anyway; I've never even heard of it," Fulcrum continues, still probably trying to get Krok to agree to let him go outside for awhile.

"It's neutral territory. Not much to say. A little bit of everything you could look for is there; organs, supplies, data." Krok glares at him. "But you know _why_ you can't be there, Fulcrum. One bit more argument, and you're on rivet duty. With no magnetic clamps. Got it?"

"Er. Yeah, I got it." Fulcrum sighs and sulks. He glances towards the others as they arrive. "Have fun out there."

"Oh yeah. We'll have a real party," Crankcase answers.

Krok lifts his chin, peering at the trio in front of him. "Get your scrap together, and see what you can bring back."

Jennix Station is too noisy. It's too full of people. Most of them are Cybertronians, but Spinister can see a few organics around, too. Either way, most of them are suspicious and he really wishes that he had his hands free. His fingers twitch, wanting his gun, wanting a trigger to rest comfortably on. Instead, he's carrying a box, peering over the top and watching suspiciously.

He sees various types of Cybertronians. A few stray, exhausted Autobots that he narrows his optics at. Most of them are neutrals. None of them trustworthy. It aggravates him that he doesn't feel properly armed at the moment.

Misfire is talking and talking and the words trail away. Thirty words later and Crankcase finally punches him in the arm to get him to shut up. Spinister flexes his fingers again, wishing he had his hands free now so he could get back to counting as they stroll through the makeshift market, a fairly questionable place with people that make Spnister even more wary.

Seven, six, five, or four? Definitely no less than four, that much he knows.

"Four..." Spinister mutters to himself.

"Just a couple of shanix for the plating," Misfire muses in a disappointed tone. "Ah well, s'enough for a cube each. Hey, Spin; aren't you going to sell off your box of whatevers?"

"Not here," Spinister says, stepping past both Crankcase and the jet.

"Where the slag do you think you're going?" Crankcase grumbles, finding himself following the medic.

"Ahead. Duh."

Misfire rubs the back of his helm. "What do you even have in there, anyway?"

"Parts I'm not gonna need," Spinister answers.

Through the market, they eventually arrive at a specific stand that Spinister had been looking for. Perfect. The supplies aren't exactly up to snuff, but he knows what he's looking for.

He opens the box.

"T-Cogs?" Misfire raises an optic ridge.

"You came at a good time," the merchant muses. "They go for a decent price these days. Five of 'em?"

"Not gonna need 'em," Spinister repeats himself in a mutter. "Six. I counted six."

The merchant stands and peers into the box. "Hmm. No, you're right. Can't imagine how I missed that."

"You sure we aren't gonna need the spares?" Crankcase asks dubiously.

"Fulcrum's sure not gonna need one." Spinister shrugs. "Yeah, I can let these go."

Six. Was it six? No, definitely six. Maybe. Four?

He thinks for a moment, ignoring the chatter between the merchant, Misfire, and Crankcase. It's not like he's going to get the shanix in his own hand, anyway; Crankcase is taking care of that factor and Spinister isn't real interested in the money. The task was done because Krok said it was needed. That was good enough.

Besides, his hands are free. That's good.

He turns his head, staring down the aisle of the market. So far, he'd mainly seen neutrals that didn't mean much. A few stray Autobots he needed to be reminded to not shoot.

Now there's something else. He sees it; the emblem of a Decepticon, but cut into plating, a scar to cross out the symbol.

Spinister widens his optics and feels his engine growl.

"One," he mutters. "But there's gotta be more."

"What're you blabbering about- _HEY!_" Crankcase snaps after him.

It's not good. Definitely not good. If he's right, they're not going to be able to stay around at this station for very long at all. He should contact Krok, but he needs to make sure first, which is why Spinister is running down after that **one** and shoving people out of his way. As he's barreling on through, he can't be bothered to pay attention to Misfire or Crankcase who are shouting after him.

"Well, he's gone completely _mental_," Misfire comments. Spinister can hear him, but he really doesn't care, can't care.

"Do _you_ wanna try stopping him?! Spin, you idiot, get back here!"

Dozens. There's going to be dozens. He just knows it. That's how it is. They meld just fine amongst others and it'll be like ugly packs tearing into everything.

He won't bother counting, but he needs to know how many more than the **one.**

Spinister stops when he's met with a dead end, then peers up, the sight of a jet flying over the wall. There! There he is. Without pause, he transforms, rotors whirling as he flies after him.

"Not all of us can fly!" he hears Crankcase shouting after him. "Misfire don't you dare pick me up _MISFIRE YOU FRAGGING_-"

Okay, good. They're both following. A good idea, while Spinister is on this chase. He doesn't know what it'll result into, if there's more than this, but he knows what he has to do. He _knows_.

The flying Cybertronian in front of him seems to realize that he has a follower. Just as he begins to speed up, Spinister rises up sharply. He doesn't think about it, he just knows this is going to be the best way to handle this: the medic transforms back into his robot mode, diving down and slamming his full body weight into the **one**, bringing him down.

All way to the deck.

The both of them land with a loud crash and there's plenty of scrapes, but Spinister is fine for the most part. He's well armored enough and he's not particularly concerned about any lingering damages to his plating. Instead, he's rising off of the jet and picking him up by the head, glaring at him.

"How many?" Spinister demands. "I'm gonna kill you if you don't tell me."

"I-I don't-" the Cybertronian sputters. "Wait a fraggin' second... are you...?"

"Don't you drop me! _SLAGGING PIT, MISFIRE!_" One loud crash later and that'd be Crankcase slamming into the ground.

Misfire lands nearby. "Sheesh, it's _don't pick me up_ or _don't drop me._ Only Fulcrum complains louder than you." He squints at Spinister, then at the trapped Cybertronian. "Not that I know this guy or anything, but I'm pretty sure Krok's gonna throw a fit if you shoot anyone while we're here, you know."

"Not this one," Spinister snarls.

"Uh." Misfire holds up his hands with an awkward smile. "Easy, Spin! What's the deal? It's one of our own, even. Even you know that."

"Fraggin' lost his head," Crankcase snaps, picking himself back up.

"He's not ours. I'm not countin' him in." The surgeon takes off his rotor blade, tapping it against the slashed out symbol. "It's a mark on its own. He's not a Decepticon anymore. He's a Raider. And I wanna know just _how many_ there are."

The Raider lets out a yelp when his helm is slammed against the wall again. "Stop! All right! I don't know the exact count, but there are dozens of us here, Spinister. Don't- don't kill me!"

There's a brief pause before Crankcase decides to pry a little with, "You know this scrapheap?"

"Face kinda looks familiar," Spinister comments. There's a faint flinch from him, then he shakes his head. No, not important. "Probably had a different paint job. I dunno." He slams the Raider again. "Who's heading this raid?"

"S-Spoilsport. Not that, uh, I told you that. Got it?" The Raider tries to offer a winning smile. "Look, it was nothing personal, I swear!"

Him. That name brings a brief image in mind, but it's quickly gone.

"Okay," is all Spinister says before he impales his rotor through the Raider's forehead, very clearly through his brain module. "Thanks anyway."

Yanking his rotor out, Spinister turns and faces Misfire and Crankcase. They aren't particularly disgusted, no reason to be, but Crankcase looks a bit more annoyed than usual. Still, it doesn't matter so long as he can get this taken care of. "Should head back to the ship, get out of here."

"I think I'm about five steps behind you, which is the weirdest feeling in the world. What the frag is a Raider?" Misfire scratches his helm. "I'm assuming, of course, they raid things, but-"

"They ditched the war," Spinister explains simply. "Raiders could have been either one. Autobot or Decepticon. They quit and start their own team, and pick off of what's left over of the war. Ran into 'em before. And they're gonna raid this entire station, so we should hurry up and get back to Krok and the others. Sooner we get off of this station, then maybe we don't have to deal with them."

"If they're as bad as you say, well." Misfire cracks a wary smile. "Running away's sounding pretty good! I vote for running away."

The three of them go immediately quiet while an explosion off in the distance goes off, the aftershock causing a tremble in their footing.

"If we aren't too late," Crankcase mutters.

It started with seven, and it ended with one. Or did it begin with one, and ended with seven, and one standing?

That's the thing he forgets, on occasion.

Trying to make their way back to the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ is a pain, but Spinister isn't waiting. The Raiders are throwing themselves into action. Former Decepticons and Autobots alike are tearing into stands and fighting amongst the residents and visitors of Jennix Station, but none of them can be bothered to stop. Even with some of the fighting happening in front of Spinister, the surgeon just gives an aggravated sound before he throws anyone in his way aside. He's not going to be wasting time by getting distracted. His entire focus is to get back to the ship and making sure that they can leave.

It can't be spent wasting time with these Raiders, as tempting as it is to shoot all of them. Spinister has a more important task and he knows it.

At the deck outside of the _Weak Anthropic Princple_, there are a few Raiders running out from the ship. Without even pausing, Spinister stabs one in the throat with his rotor and shoots the other in the head, not even twitching at the splatter of energon and brain module bits. The remaining Raiders he assumes are dealt with by Crankcase and Misfire, but he's not lingering to find out.

He sticks his head into the W.A.P. "Krok?" Spinister calls out.

"Here. I'm fine." The injured commanding officer slowly approaches with a Grimlock following.

"It's Raiders. We should probably go," Spinister suggests, glancing over his shoulder as Misfire and Crankcase catch up.

Krok narrows his optics slightly behind his bandages. "I'd agree, but Fulcrum's _not_ on the ship. Seems like these Raiders took the _no fear_ reputation to spark and decided it was better to take off. He decided to stand outside the ship and make sure no one else got on board. Worked, until he disappeared apparently. He hasn't responded to any of my pings."

"Grimlock could probably find him!" Misfire offers. "I mean, well, he has such a good sense of smell an' all. I can keep him in line, honest!"

"I'm not really fond of this idea, but seeing as how we don't have much of a choice?" Krok gives out a sigh. "Spinister, Misfire. Take Grimlock and find Fulcrum. Crankcase, we need to get this ship online and ready to go."

"Yeah, yeah. I'm on it," Crankcase grumbles as he steps inside.

"All right, Grimmy! Come to Misfire!" the jet enthusiastically calls out for the Dynobot, holding his arms out. The Autobot nearly knocks him over by stomping in so close, shoving his snout against the energetic Decepticon. "Close enough. Okay! I need you to help us find Fulcrum. Got it? You Grimlock find him Fulcrum."

"Muh... me Grimlock. Find him Fulcrum." The words seem to be a struggle, but the concept is accepted. Grimlock sniffs the air before stomping out from the ship.

It's a straightforward idea that Spinister can get behind. Let Grimlock seek out Fulcrum by smell, grab him, and get the frag off of the station.

It itches in the back of his mind. There are broken thoughts trickling in and out since he first saw the Raider. The words and images flickering in his mind are old, old and full of white noise and Spinister growls in his engine.

It's meaningless. No. Right, he needs to remember to focus. Just follow Grimlock, he's on the right track, he has to be.

They manage to charge through the fighting crowds and the retreating Raiders, several of them carrying various items and goods. It doesn't matter, they're irrelevant. They absolutely need to get everyone regrouped and he's thinking.

Spinister thinks.

One, two, three, four, five-

There's a snarl of rage from Grimlock and Spinister looks up. He hears Misfire shout and ramble some words, but they don't click together very well and make sense. Not as Spinister stares up, red optics wide. No, he sees it, he sees three of the Raiders. A battle tank is manhandling Fulcrum, dragging him along back _to_ one of the ships. Another is irrelevant to him, but the third.

He remembers.

It clicks and Spinister moves, transforming and flying ahead.

It's clearer now and he knows that face. It feels like his body is out of control and he's charging, going up and up before he's diving down and slamming all of his body into the other mech.

"_You!_" Spinister practically bellows, and he can't focus on anything but trying to tear into him.

There's some shouting and he can't be bothered to listen. No, it doesn't matter, he just needs to destroy him, just needs to-

Something hard smashes into the side of his head. It doesn't make him pull away immediately; Spinister doesn't even pause as he wails the butt of his rifle into the Raider's face. It takes two more hits to his helm before he can hardly see, his optical sensors glitching and rebooting along with his directional sensors. Dizzied along with his blind fury, Spinister is thrown to the floor and pinned by two pairs of hands.

He can hear, though he's barely absorbing the words. Spinister can't see right away, but he remembers.

"You all right, Spoilsport?"

"Does my fraggin' face look like I'm okay?! And you, Barracks - if you weren't fooling around trying to drag this K-Con back..."

He remembers that _look_.

"Huh." Roughly, there's a hand grabbing his chin, forcing his head up. "_Switches and boards_, how are you still alive after all this damn time?"

Words. Words are hard. He can only sputter and growl as his sight starts to boot itself back up. Beyond that face, he sees the tank holding Fulcrum. One hand is around his mouth and their optics meet, Fulcrum's wide and surprised and something else that Spinister can't think to connect. Worry? Or something. Right, no, he remembers, he had been counting.

One, two, three, four, five, six.

"Spinister," Spoilsport snorts. "How many were left after I was done with you?"

How many were left.

He thinks and through the static he recalls. It was cold, very cold. The entire squad was down. Several dying. Spinister's always been very good at combat, really very good, and he had been able to take down several of them. The ones with a slice through their badge, the Raiders. The ones who left either side in order to pick off everyone else.

They were dying. It had started with seven, Spinister included.

"Don't look at me," Spinister manages out.

It had started with seven left in the squad. He had nothing to work with to keep them alive. Spoilsport had taken everything that was useful, he made _sure_ of that.

He remembers.

"Don't look at me _like that!_"

"Oh, don't worry." Spoilsport levels a rifle to Spinister's face. "I won't be looking for much longer."

"Ow!" Barracks jerks his hand away from Fulcrum's mouth. "You little glitch! You bit me!"

Spoilsport lets out an annoyed sigh. "Would you get him under control already? I can't believe I let you talk me into dragging him along."

"Don't shoot him!" Fulcrum shouts, struggling against the larger mech. "Don't-"

"_Shut up_, already," Barracks grumbles, throwing the K-Con on the ground. He lifts up a foot, slamming it down on top of Fulcrum. Under the weight, the K-Classer lets out a pained squeak, trying to push his pathetic level of strength against the weight to try to save himself. It isn't working. "You've got a bit more bearings than I remember. Feh. Sorry, Spoilsport. Go on, I'm good to see some brains fly."

Six.

He has it.

The heated end of the rifle presses against his forehead and Spinister tries to get a sense for his orientation. It's still flawed as he tries to pull at the hold on his arms and shoulders, weight that would not typically hold him down but the several blows to his head have thrown him off a bit more than usual. He hears the shouting from Fulcrum at each slam of Barracks' foot coming down.

"C'mon!" Another stomp. "Beg already. That ought to bring back some memories!" _Clang_ and there's the sound of plating cracking as Fulcrum whimpers. "Like the good ol' days. Beg!"

There's a shot. Spinister knows the sound of rifle going off, what kind of Decepticon wouldn't? But his head isn't blown apart. He isn't hurt at all by the gun. Instead, he sees where the plasma struck: on the wall, about two feet above Spoilsport's head.

"I was, uh. Aiming for your hand. Or your body. Or any part of you, I suppose."

"M-Misfire," Fulcrum chokes out under the foot, staring in the general direction of the jet.

It's enough of a distraction. Spinister's recovered enough that he's tearing away from the Raiders holding him down. Leaping from his spot, he tackles Spoilsport with a furious snarl.

But not as furious as the enraged roar from Grimlock. The plating of the deck shakes as the Dynobot charges in. Spinister is indifferent to the fearful shouts and shrieks of the Raiders as they scramble to try to figure out how to deal with the angered Autobot.

He just wants to deal with Spoilsport.

Rotor in hand, Spinister swings it down, only to be caught at the wrists by Spoilsport. More than anything, he wants to beat that face in, tear out his optics, and make him stop _looking at him like that._

Spoilsport is looking back briefly to the rest of his own team, cursing under an exvent as he sees them fleeing or dead. "Get off, you stupid piece of scrap!" he growls, finally kicking off Spinister. He transforms and practically barrels after the rest of the Raiders.

The surgeon is throwing himself onto his feet, grabbing for his rifle. No, he needs to shoot him, he-

"Spinister?"

He looks down, his optics resting on the three in front of him. Misfire, Fulcrum, and Grimlock. There's a drool of energon running down the Dynobot's jaws, pieces of left over Cybertronian across the deck. While Misfire looks more or less unharmed, parts of Fulcrum's plating looks cracked and he's trembling. Not that it's terribly unusual to see Fulcrum scared about anything, but it's still a bit sobering. It reminds him of _now_ instead of _then._ What he has now, what has to be taken care of.

Slowly, Spinister looks up to see Spoilsport's ship start to take off.

Another time for him. Now with all six of them, it's more important.

All right, then.

"We should get back," is all Spinister has to say.

"I... I can't really..." Fulcrum only seems to shake more, as if the experience somehow got to him. Which is strange to Spinister, admittedly. Weren't the D.J.D. a bigger deal or whatever? "_Ack_, Misfire!"

The shout of surprise is probably due to the fact that Misfire is picking up the K-Con in his arms. "What, pinhead? You're gonna take forever to get back to the W.A.P.; I dunno about you, but I'm not making Krok wait."

"F-fine! Whatever, let's just go." Fulcrum sighs. "I'm ready to get off this station."

In his silence, Spinister agrees with that sentiment.

He'd been mixed up in letting what was old drive him into what is _now_ and more important. The count isn't down to one, it's down to six; he knows the difference, he really does, but seeing Spoilsport again threw it all back.

He wasn't going to deal with the way the Raider leader looked at him again.

Now, though. Now it's about Krok and the others.

As they start to circle back towards the _Weak Anthropic Principle_, they stop to peer around the corner. Just because Spoilsport's ship has left doesn't mean, apparently, that the rest of the Raiders are quite following. There are still several of them picking up what's been left over.

And a few of them are trying to break into the ship.

"This looks bad. There's no way we can all taken them on, even with Grimlock here," Fulcrum mutters, frowning.

"We never run away fast enough," Misfire laments with a sigh. "All right, so what should we do?"

There's a quiet sense of consideration. Eventually, with some hesitation, Fulcrum addresses Spinister, "If I was in my alt-mode, could you manage my weight?"

"Yeah, suppose so." Spinister shrugs. "How come?"

"Well, I... I have an idea. I dunno if it's gonna work, but." Fulcrum smiles nervously. "It's worth a shot. Just make sure you don't drop me."

It doesn't take long to arrange, which is good because they don't have a whole lot of time. The W.A.P. is already in a rickety condition and they definitely can't bear under the pounding that the door is taking. Hell, if they get impatient enough, they might decide to break into the hull of the ship.

And no one is about to wait around and listen to the kind of complaining that Crankcase would dish out.

From up on top of some scaffolding, Fulcrum peers down at the Raiders briefly before looking over his shoulder back to Spinister. "You sure you're ready?"

"It's not hard to do," Spinister replies. "I won't let go or anything like that."

"Yeah." Fulcrum lets out a shaky exhale.

"Hey. Fulcrum?"

The K-Con tilts his head a little. "Yeah, Spin?"

"I got it figured out." Spinister winds the chain a little more over his hands. "It's six."

"Um. That's... good? That's good, Spinister."

"Yep." Spinister lifts his chin. "You'd better get started."

There's a moment's hesitation, if only so that Fulcrum can exhales again. He's afraid and that's nothing new, but he's doing that thing again. Thinking and planning and trying to keep all of them safe. That's something that Fulcrum's getting better about and Spinister, in all of his confusion of numbers and counting and hands and memories, _knows_ this about him.

So he watches Fulcrum run and run before he leaps off the edge of the scaffolding, arms spread out as he dives. He hears the transformation sequence go and sees him turn into a bomb. There's several panicked shouts of surprise.

Spinister strains and grunts as he holds onto the chain.

At the other end of it, it's tied around a portion of Fulcrum, and so he is effectively dangling the K-Classer with the chain over the entire group of Raiders.

"If you don't back off, I'm going to have him drop me on top of all of you. And _yes_ that would effectively kill all of us." Spinister is impressed that Fulcrum is able to keep most of his fear out of his voice, instead sounding way more stern than usual, kind of like when he's telling Misfire he's talking way too much or telling Grimlock to stop chewing on a piece of equipment. "I'm going to give you ten seconds to scram."

"I. I did hear that a K-Con was around," one of the other Raiders mentions. "I think I saw him, actually!"

"Why the scrap didn't anyone say anything?!"

The entire group of Raiders start to scramble away.

"I don't think they're movin' fast enough," Spinister gripes.

"You know? I agree with you. Misfire!" Fulcrum calls out, still dangling above in his bomb mode.

No more than two seconds later, stomping around the corner is Grimlock, letting out a booming roar. Riding his back and grinning broadly is Misfire, pumping his fist in the air. Flames soon pour out from Grimlock's mouth as the Dynobot helps either scare off the rest of the Raiders or outright tear into them.

All the while with Misfire hooting and shouting, "_**This is the best moment in my entire life! YESSSSS.**_"

"Um. Pull me back up?" Fulcrum quietly calls out. "Please?"

Without hesitation, Spinister begins to pull up on the chain, helping the K-Con back onto the platform. Once Fulcrum manages to transform back into his root mode, the former technician gives a relieved sigh and brushes himself off.

"Guess that worked out okay." Fulcrum glances down nervously.

There's some satisfaction to see some of the Raiders gone. Better to see some of them dead, Spinister figures.

"Guess so," Spinister mumbles.

Report later. Handle repairs first. That's what Krok said, and that's what Spinister will do.

That's something that he can focus on, at least. It's better than what his mind wants to wander to. Old cold air, frost crawling up his plating, and his beaten body trying to repair six fallen teammates while Spoilsport laughed at him, giving him that. That _look._

No. He's okay with trying to focus on the present.

For awhile, it's completely silent between the two of them. Spinister is focusing on fixing the more damaging cracks in Fulcrum's plating from the beating he'd received. It seems like more than usual, Fulcrum is sulking, so the surgeon didn't put up any kind of fuss in having Grimlock stay in the medbay with them. The Dynobot's head is in the K-Con's lap, tail absently wagging.

"Spin?" Fulcrum calls for the medic quietly.

"Huh?" Spinister looks up from his work. "What's wrong?"

"I..." Warily, Fulcrum looks over his shoulder at Spinister. "Did you know those guys? You seem like you did. At least Spoilsport."

"It was a long time ago." Spinister shrugs. "Gonna kill him next time I see him." Fulcrum flinches. There's a sigh and Spinister grabs his shoulders. "Try to calm down. I'm not done yet."

"Sorry." Fulcrum's fingers twitch. "Guess I shouldn't blame you. I don't know what he did to you, but if..."

The words just stop as the former technician trails off. The incomplete thought just confuses Spinister. "If what?"

"Nothing." The voice used is tiny, curled in, and absolutely fearful. Fulcrum pauses before he asks, "Do... do you know what happened to Styx?"

"Not really. Suppose maybe someone mentioned it, but I probably forgot."

"Ah. Yeah. I guess so." Fulcrum turns his attention back to Grimlock. "What did Spoilsport do to you?"

There's a lengthy pause, the only sound in the medbay being the noises of Spinister repairing Fulcrum and the quiet snuffle of Grimlock's tail as it waves against the floor.

What Spoilsport did.

"Bad things," is all Spinister can stand to say.

And that's all Fulcrum can stand to ask.

In the previous squad, it had started out with seven, just like another.

Raiders, Spinister had learned, are those become pirates and prey on those weakest in the war. Or try to, anyway.

What he remembers most of that day, when seven counted down to one, was Spoilsport and the funny look he gave him, smiling all the way.

For today, Spinister can safely say his count of his squad is six, and he hopes the number does not go down.

Sometime, during the scuffle, he'd placed it under the plating. Just in case it didn't all go according to plan.

Barracks leans back in his chair, checking the tracking signal.

"Another time," he promises with a grand smile.

Just not today.


	8. INTERLUDE: Thanks But No Thanks

**CHAPTER: **INTERLUDE E - "Thanks But No Thanks"  
**CONTINUITY:** Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics  
**RATING:** PG for big dumb robots.  
**SUMMARY:** After the Raiders, the station feels the need to throw gifts at the Scavengers. The results vary.  
**DISCLAIMER:** None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.

* * *

"So when the hell are we taking off?" Crankcase grumbles, as if he could have any other tone besides default _grumpy_. "I thought we were ready to go."

"I kinda like a place that's dumping free scrap on us," Misfire chirps in, holding up his box of random items as if it was nothing but shanix. "I didn't think that energon could even come in so many colors!"

Krok squints at Misfire, then at the box. "You're sure it's energon that they gave you?"

"I dunno. Probably? Hey, this one's practically black! I wonder what it tastes like. And this one's yellow with... yep, those sure are blue bubbles!" Misfire grins.

It's a bit unexpected, but it's pleasant enough as far as things go that's happened to them. After the Raiders took what they wanted and fled, it left the station in shambles. Seeing the scavengers attempt to defend themselves against the attackers meant, apparently, that they were valiant or some such in fighting back. Despite the merchants' lack of many items, they _are_ being given random odd gifts.

Krok isn't so sure he can make much use of necklace with beads made out of the helms of Autobots, but sure, he'll hang it on a lamp or something. Okay.

"Can any of that be used to fuel the ship?" Crankcase dares to ask Misfire.

"Eh, no. I already asked." Misfire shrugs. "Oh, this one's brown! I can't even imagine what that'd taste like."

The gifts, at least, are a helpful distraction for almost half of them. Spinister's been more quiet than usual, which means Krok is forced to give him several tasks to keep him preoccupied. Fulcrum's been harder to find, slipping away occasionally and disappearing for hours with Grimlock. Spinister he gets; Krok isn't unwise to the medic's behaviors and the reasons behind them.

It's Fulcrum who's being the mystery and he doesn't like it.

"Misfire, put that box down. You aren't trying anything until you find Fulcrum," Krok orders. "Now." There's a small huff, but no argument. The box is set aside and the jet sighs as he heads off to go find the mission K-Con. Satisfied enough, Krok turns and addresses Crankcase, "We'll take whatever the merchants feel like they owe us. It won't be much, but it's something. Might be able to barter fuel from them eventually."

"They gave me," Crankcase grates out, "a helmet."

"I know. You showed me."

"It had _floral designs_, Krok."

"Crankcase-"

"_And frills._"

Krok sighs.

Well, they tried anyway.


	9. INTERLUDE: Still Haunted

**CHAPTER: **INTERLUDE F - "Still Haunted"  
**CONTINUITY:** Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics  
**RATING:** PG for big dumb robots.  
**SUMMARY:** Fulcrum goes missing. Misfire finds him.  
**DISCLAIMER:** None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.

* * *

Finding Fulcrum isn't really difficult with enough effort. That effort, in particular, being that you just needed to find Grimlock. Sure, the Dynobot's getting used to being around the others, but he still tags along after the K-Con. It's hard to tell who takes care of who, sometimes.

Close enough to the cargo bay, he sees the Autobot flopped over in the hallway, occupying much of its space and effectively making himself Mt. Grimlock and a requirement to climb if one wants to reach their meager cargo. Not that it's really Misfire's goal; he can see how Grimlock is situation, flopped in front of an open ventilation shaft. With his snout and jaws near the open shaft, Grimlock is grunting and chomping his mouth, snorting and sniffing the air as he slowly wags his tail.

Only one mech on the ship is small and lanky enough to crawl in there. Even Krok has too broad of shoulders to even think about it.

"Hey, Grimmy. Is Fulcrum in there?" Misfire crouches down by the Dynobot fearlessly.

No verbal response. Just a low whine in a strange mix of a growl formed in the Autobot's belly.

Close enough of an answer.

"Lemme have a look." Misfire plops down on top of Grimlock's head, the Dynobot not even fighting back. "Pinhead! You in there?"

After a pause, there's a sigh in shaft before, "...Yeah. What is it?"

"Can't hide there forever, you know. Krok's wondering about you."

"I'm not on duty and my repairs are done."

Misfire raises an optical ridge. "But you're allowed off the ship. You were complaining awhile ago that you couldn't leave. Why do you wanna be stuffed up there?"

"Misfire, leave me alone. Please."

"You've been acting weird since the Raiders," Misfire mutters. "You and Spinister both."

"Just..."

"I don't like it."

Fulcrum sounds a bit more impatient, "You wouldn't get it."

"Fine, whatever, you don't have to tell me. But you don't have to hide in there either." Misfire reaches into the vent blindly, holding out his hand into the shaft. "You're being an idiot, y'know that? I know you're new, and I guess maybe things are weird right now, but there's something even Spinister gets. You don't have to act like you need to rely on just yourself."

They stood up to the Decepticon Justice Division all together. Even in the raw truth that was Fulcrum's secret, they stood their ground and fought for him as hard as they could. It wasn't much, but it was something, and there's at least one fact that Misfire can sort into this.

They aren't alone. None of them. That's the best feeling in the universe to Misfire, and he's glad for it. He wants- he _needs_ Fulcrum to understand that too, no matter how many ridiculous secrets they all have or how different they perceive things as they stare into space and all six of them seeing different things.

Satisfied, he feels a hand slip into his own, and Misfire helps Fulcrum out of the ventilation shaft.


	10. Not Today

**CHAPTER**: FOUR - "Not Today"  
**CONTINUITY**: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics  
**RATING**: PG-13 for various bits of mention of robot gore.  
**SUMMARY**: Misfire continues his search for the Necrobot.  
**DISCLAIMER**: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to. All typos on this chapter are more or less on purpose.

* * *

In an hour, they're finally taking off from Jennix Station. No doubt from how the events have bowled over Spinister and Fulcrum alike for reasons that still evade Misfire will finally start being left behind, but then they'll all be a little more relieved when Crankcase complains slightly less. Not for another _hour_, but still. It's something, at least.

With an hour to kill, Misfire's grabbed his box of clinking vials and practically prancing his way to the cargo bay. Literally throwing the door open, the jet sits down and sorts through the little bottles of various liquids, the only sound being glass tapping against each other and the slow whirl of the fans above.. At first, he has it sorted by size, though he realizes that's not a very practical manner in which to have them. It's hardly going to verify what kind of flavors they'll probably have, so he opens the cork on each and goes by scent instead. It seems like a good idea, but unsatisfied, he puts them in order of color.

Whatever. He should just test them out instead of dillydallying like this.

"Okay." Misfire picks up the strange glowing gray bottle, peering at it. The way it swirls makes it not quite so silvery as opposed to the visual appearance of melting steel. When he opens it he, he says, "Well, let's start with you."

It's not as smooth as energon as it goes down. It's bland as hell, a bit miserable actually. Like breathing in a mouthful of ash through his vents. Unpleasant and dry-tasting afterward.

Really unsatisfying. "Well. Glad it was free," Misfire remarks. He lifts up another vial, this one with blue-colored contents. "Wonder if-"

Out of his peripheral vision, he sees someone pass. He isn't sure who, but the color is catching. No one else has that color, no one else moves like that, and he already knows depth of that red. He's been familiar with it for awhile.

"Hmm." Misfire peers down at the vial in his hand.

All right, then.

It's him again.

"Hey now!" Misfire calls after him. "I know you're here! Just you wait!"

Silence.

_What a jerk._

Running down the hallway, Misfire keeps just seeing glimpses. Brief moments of him, down and down and further into the ship. Slipping just out of eyesight, but enough of a glance that he can be _seen_ and this time, this time _for sure_, Misfire's is going to track him down.

"Krok! Hey, Krok." Misfire is reaching for his commlink, peering around the corner. "I've got him this time!"

"_Him? ...Oh. I see. The Necrobot._" Krok sighs. "_Are you gonna be back within the hour?_"

"Huh? Oh. Yeah, sure, of course I will." Misfire tsks. "Don't go anywhere without me!"

"_Come back in an hour and I won't. Make this short._"

Good enough. He has Krok's go, so he'll make good on this chase.

Practically leaping out from the W.A.P., Misfire transforms and tears into the air, following undoubtedly his target. It's strange for a moment, as it feels like there's a rush of everything passing by him. It's fast, as fast as he can go, but as he tries to increase his speed, everything else slows down. The blur of stands and humble buildings of the station start to become clearer and more crisp, as if he isn't moving much at all. The mass of people below him are clear at first, but then they seem to mash together in some way. They're grayed out, nearly faceless, meaningless in comparison to the striking red of the Necrobot.

Yet, in the busy streets of Jennix Station, the Necrobot's back can still be seen as he slips down an alleyway.

"Fine, we'll do it this way," Misfire mutters to himself, transforming back to root mode. Landing onto his feet, he runs down the street, managing to squeeze by everyone hounding the roads.

When were there so many people here, anyway?

The detail is nearly forgotten as he sees his goal step through an open door. Grinning to himself, _sure_ of the fact that he was going to succeed this time, Misfire runs through the entrance.

The door slams shut tight behind him. Eh, he'll figure it out later.

Stretching out before him is an incredibly long hallway. It's strange to him, because it doesn't look like it belongs on the station at all, much less in this building. It doesn't seem like it's been made to fit such a shack, and the rest of the station is grimy and barely holding together since the attack from the Raiders. Yet, this interior? It's... plush, almost. The paint is fresh and new, colorful and striking to the optic. It reminds him of the one time he'd ever seen where the higher class mechs stayed on Cybertron before the war. There's all _that_, plus also the fact that both walls are covered with dozens and dozens of doors.

He touches the wall curiously, then glances up as he sees him again, disappearing through one of those doors.

"Frag," Misfire curses to himself, dashing down the hall. Once he reaches it, swings it open.

Finding himself faced with a steel wall instead of an actual entrance waiting for him.

"What the...?" Misfire frowns and scratches his head. How is _that_ even possible?

Backing up from the wall, the jet turns and glances down the seemingly endless hallway. Is it just him, or does it seem like it's growing longer and longer?

Hm.

Curiously, he tries one of the other doors, walking through it.

Only to come out the opposite side, almost comically.

"Hmm. A portal?" Misfire guesses to himself. "No, no. Clearly, it's magic."

Whatever it is, it's interesting. Amusing, even!

Each time Misfire opens a door, it either leads him to another door in the same hallway, or another wall. One of the doors even manages to drop him down to the floor, face first. Which is impressive, how does _that_ even work? Stumbling back to his feet, his wings flicker in both curiosity and frustration.

"Oh, c'mon! I know you're here!" Misfire calls out.

He hasn't lost him yet. He can't have.

There's a pause and Misfire looks down at the vial still in his hand somehow. Despite all of the transforming and running around and falling, the glass is still there, full and unspilled, blue and glowing and inviting.

Well. He is a bit hungry.

Misfire downs the contents. He feels an uncomfortable shiver through his plating.

The walls immediately begin to rust over. It crawls and reaches, killing the once intriguing colors into nothing but grime and nothingness. It all crumbles away, the doors falling to the floor, one by one.

When the last door falls, there he is, turning and leaving through a dark entrance once again.

"I got you!" Misfire shouts, practically giddy, racing after the Necrobot into the entranceway. "I've got you now!"

Here, it's different, and it's immediately felt the further he runs inside. There is nothing but the blackness in here. It's almost suffocating the way it's all around him, sucking him in, yet it's wide and expansive and _lonely_. That chills him; it's like being lost in space with no stars to guide him by, _nothing_.

All he has to do is run forward, chasing a distant red figure before him.

This is the longest run he's had. He's going to do it this time!

At the elated feeling, he somehow feels steps for his feet. He climbs and climbs, the ground under his feet lighting up every time his feet touch the ground. At first the ground seems to glow blue, then to red, purple, and eventually it just starts to flash colors in no particular order or meaning.

The path before him brightens and givens a clear path now, leading hopefully closer to the Necrobot. Yet, it only seems like they're getting higher and higher, high enough to be completely surrounded by stars.

"Um," Misfire comments brilliantly, staring all around himself. Nebulas can be seen oddly not too far off, colors shifting and changing. Rushing through the darkness are apparently a series of comets.

Abruptly, one of the comets twists around into an impossible loop in the air. It smashes and lands onto the path in front of him; bursting forth from the sparkling remains is, somehow, _Soundwave_.

Sure. Why not. Misfire isn't even going to argue. He just grins and says, "Awesome."

Soundwave says nothing and simply throws some sort of string instrument at Misfire. The jet manages to catch it, and finds himself completely jamming out in the stars and lights and colors. The music feels like it's rushing through his plating and electrifying his entire sensory net. The stars are beginning to burst and explode around him in an impressive display.

The only appropriate thing Misfire feels like he can do now is shout out, "**AW YEAHHHHHH!**"

* * *

Everything dulls all at once and Misfire finds himself on his back. He stares up at the ceiling, watching the fan slowly turn clockwise in the cargo bay of the _Weak Anthropic Princple_. The tingles in his body slowly stop and he frowns.

Oh. Well, frag, that was one hell of a trip.

Slowly, he sits himself up and looks down.

Two vials, empty on the floor.

Briefly, he checks his internal chronometer, squinting a little. Five minutes have passed, and he can't remember what part had started out to be real and when it stopped being reality. When did he lose sight of the Necrobot? He'd been there! Misfire had almost reached him finally.

He glances at his vials of various fuels, considering deeply for a moment. Whatever had happened, it felt close enough that he almost reached the Necrobot. With these, can he do it again? Can he _get there?_

Only five minutes passed. He has time before the ship takes off.

"All right, then." Misfire picks up one of the vials, peering at it. The way the colors swirl make it appear strange, almost kind of oily. "Let's give this another go, eh?"

The contents are taken in one shot. The texture definitely is strange, almost kind of filmy. He wrinkles his nose briefly, clicking his tongue, as if that'll somehow make the flavor more favorable. Misfire shakes his head a little. What the hell were the merchants doing with all of these, anyway?

He glances to his right and raises an optical ridge.

"Funny," Misfire muses to himself. "Never seen this before."

It's a door on the floor of the cargo bay. Strange, he's sure that Krok would have said something about it before. And it's not like they have so much equipment that it'd be easy to _hide_, either. So did it just suddenly appear?

Either way, his curiosity gets the best of him. With a grunt, Misfire manages to prop the door open. Down below seems, oddly enough, a tunnel. Logistically, it shouldn't go on for as long as it seems to, otherwise it'd just be a hole in the ship.

Fortunately, Misfire is not much on thinking about the logistics of things. Mentally, he waves it off as magic or some such before he grins to himself and hops down the tunnel. The way down has a way of making it sem lik it gets smallerand smaller, the sheer blackness juat almost consuming in some way. It's discomforting and he debates flying back up, but he can't even see the top of the hole anymore.

So it's time to go down.

Eventually light abruptly hits his optics, almost blinding him as he falls and hits the bottom. It takes a moment for his optics to readjust, but once they do, the sight he sees is a strange one no doubt. Looking up from the floor, Misfir see two of the biggest idiots sitting at a small, elegant table. The furniture is made of pristine metal, polished and flimmering as both Grimlock and Spinisiter sit back in equally fancyas-hell chairs. The designs carved into the damned things is far more intricate than it ought to be, and fefinitely does not suit the two at all.

SHeesh.

There's a small sniff from Grimlock as the Dynobot peers down at Misfire. "I do say, chap, you gave us nearly a fright there for a moment."

"Indeed," Spinister agrees, picking up his energon and giving it a sip, somehow _delicately_ if that was possible for him.

"Well, I cab;t reakky tekk uf tgis is crepy or what," Misfire mutters to himself. He pauses for a moment, frowning to himself. His mind is starting to feel more and more muddled. What does that mean, exactly?

"Well. I, Grimlock, must say that youre making a fine interruption of my lunch date with our fine surgeon here, wot." Grimlock sighs. "In any case, can we perhaps assist you?"

Sluggishly, Misfire gives a shrug and says, "Don't suppose you've seen a red mech around here? Carrying a datapad. A list of some kind."

Spinister shakes his head gracefully. "Terribly sorry, but no. If it's the Necrobot again, Im afraid we're having non eof that at our lunch. Isn't that right, old boy?"

"Quite right," Grimlock agrees. "Perhaps try down there? I, Grimlock, did notice a smashing new door."

"Smashing indeed."

Somehow, he hadn't noticed it before, but it is there across the room. It's an odd door, completely out of place considering the rest of the artistic decor. It's bland, flat, and scraped up from use. Not much to look at, but it sticks out almost obnoxiously. Huh.

"All right, you guys are just wigging me out," Misfire grumbles. "I'll, uh. Use that door you mentioned."

"CHeers," Spinister muses.

It opens easily enough.

Just as it shuts behind Misfire easily enough.

[_This portion of the ship truly makes no sense and should not, though with how things have been going, that should be no surprise. Although we can assume this is from the perspective of MISFIRE, as this should be pretty clearly different from the rest of the ship. The hallway is long, rectangular, and direct. Yet, at the same time, everything is discolored by age and beaten and worn. It is rusted and earthy and should give the distinct feeling of being unclean._]

**MISFIRE:**  
The _hell_ is going on here?

[_Both the right and left walls are lined with three doorways. Next to each doorway is some sort of statue, only on each one there's some sort of slot, as if a lever should be in each one. With careful observation, one should be able to find that one statue already __**does**__ have a lever in its chest, and the door next to it is open. Briefly, MISFIRE dares to look inside. The room has little in it: several pieces and debris, and a pair of impressively sized feet._]

**MISFIRE:**  
Uh. Okay, then.

[_With wide optics, MISFIRE steps back. He decides to try to open door number two, hoping that it'll be a little more promising. Set up with little care against the wall is either some dead body or just a shell that has never been used. The head is caved on in the left side, and in its hand is one of the levers. Without hesitation, MISFIRE grabs the lever from the hand._]

**MISFIRE:**  
I'll take that, thank you very much.

[_After backing out of the room, MISFIRE looks at the lever in his hand, then to the statue outside of the room. Curiously, he places the lever into the chest. It clicks into place. He grabs and pulls the lever._

_At the lever is pulled, it is slow and grating, like rust against rust wailing out. It's almost like the statue is screaming. MISFIRE stands there for a moment, optics wide in surprise. He tries to tug the lever out or move it again, but it seems locked in place._]

**MISFIRE:**  
[_Grumbling._] Well. All right, then.

[_MISFIRE sets to the task of investigating the other rooms. Each one is slightly different than the other, but they all have a lever somewhere. Every single time he places the lever into the chest of the statue outside the door and pulls it, the same thing happens: it sounds like the statue screams, and he can't get the lever out once it's in._

_The following room contains a taller corpse with the hands torn off, the fingers spread apart on the floor. The lever had been sticking out of the back until MISFIRE had pried it out. _

_That covered the right hand side of the hallway._

_The next room had a much larger body, the head completely missing. Where the head should have been, the lever was there. After that, MISFIRE found the next room to be a little bit different, if only for the fact the body is actually sitting on a piece of furniture. The face is missing, as if ripped off, the lever sticking out of one of the holes in its chest._

_It makes him uncomfortable to look at, but MISFIRE takes the lever anyway._

_The last room on the left side of the hallway makes him stop completely._]

**MISFIRE:**  
[_In disbelief._] The frag...?

[_Hanging from the wall is what he hopes to be the last of the bodies. The hands and feet are impaled on spikes, leaving it to dangle from the wall. The limbs seem to be mostly pulled from the body, but not quiet, leaving it looking a bit elongated in some way. It makes MISFIRE squirm as he stares up at the body._

_In its mouth is the final lever, clenched tight between teeth._

_Warily, MISFIRE removes it, quickly stepping out of the room and facing the very last statue at the end of the hallway._

_He isn't sure if he wants to use it, but he has no where else to go at this point. Slowly, he places the lever into the last statue. Wincing, MISFIRE pulls the lever._]

The scream is loud enough to cause an echo in the hallway. Misfire widens his optics and he can't seem to stop. Slower and slower, the lever moves down, the shriek ending in a gurgling moan until the lever is done moving.

He wants to take it back. Suddenly, he wants to take it all back and not be in this hallway, but he can't stop it now. He can't turn back, there's no where _to_ turn back. Yet, he has such unease in his tanks, his spark twisting. He feels like, maybe, he's just made an enormous mistake.

Still, with no where else to be, Misfire opens the last door, stepping inside.

Strewn about the floor are several body parts, the plating gray and showing no sign of life in any of it. It's too familiar, maybe a dozen or so corpses in here, with broken guns scattered. Old, dried energon is splashed across the walls and terror rises in him.

Misfire turns around sharply to leave, finding himself facing him. Him.

The Necrobot stares down at Misfire.

"It was an accident," Misfire blurts out, backing up slowly. "It wasn't supposed to happen like this!"

The Necrobot stares.

"I was just curious! I didn't mean to do any of that." There's a yelp as Misfire trips over one of the pieces on the floor, landing squarely onto his aft.

The Necrobot stares and begins to approach Misfire.

"_**It was an accident!**_"

Slowly, the datapad in the Necrobot's hands turn. There on the list, there are many names, but Misfire sees many he recognizes.

He can't speak suddenly. It hurts to try. There's a prominent tremble in his body. He knows what was done and there's no excuse for it and he wants to undo it all and try again but that's impossible now, purely impossible and there's something. So horrible. Climbing over his plating.

With a hiccup in his vents, Misfire watches in horror as rust crawls up his legs, breaking him apart.

"No! No no no!"

He looks at his own hands crumble away, becoming dust to the floor.

The Decepticon known as Misfire is then nothing more than bits of forgettable metal.

* * *

Optics come online and Misfire is on his back again, staring up at the ceiling. He feels the fan turn, and it is moving counter-clockwise, air moving over him because its motions. For awhile, Misfire simply looks up, seeing it move, observing it. It doesn't make him calm, but it does make him feel introspective.

Slowly, he moves his hand down his own torso, letting it settle over a spot on his abdomen. Freshly sealed from sometime ago when Blithe and his crew attacked the W.A.P. and Fulcrum gave him, really _gave_ him his fuel pump.

It draws him to think on the K-Con. There's the whole _hey you nearly got us killed and also you sort of put us on the D.J.D.'s List_ factor, but otherwise, Fulcrum has been a good addition to the crew. He's not very strong, but he's smart and he's been adapting to life on the ship very well. There are various times when he's upset and Misfire has honestly no idea how to handle that very well, but he tries to stick by his side.

Because... well, because he does like Fulcrum. Very much. Even if he's a bit evasive on that topic.

He remembers his hallucination from the Cerebnum. Misfire knows what that means, and how much he'd rather have Fulcrum laughing than dwelling on every bad thing that happens to them.

Misfire knows how he feels.

Feeling something ignite in him, he sits up sharply and marches out from the cargo bay. This needs to happen now. He can't contain it.

Making his way onto the bridge, Misfire dramatically throws the door open. "Fulcrum!"

"...Misfire?" The K-Con turns and looks at him incredulously. "What's gotten into you?"

"We really need to talk!"

Fulcrum raises an optical ridge. "Okay, so... talk? Talk to me."

Rushing forward, Misfire grabs onto Fulcrum's shoulders. "You remember when we were on that planet? With the Cerebnum?" Fulcrum gives him a flat look. "Okay, stupid question. Of course you remember. That hallucination I had, well..."

"You said it could have been anyone."

"I lied! Completely lied. To your face. Because I was embarrassed. I was giving it a lot of thought, and how I feel about you. I really just want you to be happy with us. With _me._"

Fulcrum looks alarmed at the revelation. "Misfire?"

"You're the one for me, baby!" Abruptly, Misfire dips Fulcrum down and gives him an incredibly sloppy kiss.

* * *

Optics come online once more. The ceiling is hardly any different, only the fan is turning clockwise again. There's a tired sigh from Misfire as he reflects on the last hallucination briefly.

Complications are not a thing that Misfire particularly enjoys. He understands that coming to terms with thoughts and feelings require him to sit still and consider. Even if they are true, it's not wise to approach much further than his own mind. Not right now, anyway. He has no idea what he could say to Fulcrum. It's not like the Decepticon military trains you on this particular matter.

Misfire rolls onto his side, looking at the vials he's been drinking. He feels exhausted. He winces as he remembers the names on the list from the Necrobot. Real or not, it terrifies him to think about.

The chronometer states it's a half hour until launch.

After a small internal debate, he picks up a vial. Murky, brown, downright rust-colored.

Misfire downs it anyway. His optics shut off at the awful, stinging flavor afterward.

And he opens his optics.

Familiar, but different. The same, but not so much.

"Are you sure you have that?"

"I'm about as sure as I've ever been about this."

He finds himself on his back, staring up at faces he knows and can't remember knowing. Wary and weary optics look down at him and Misfire sees his own fuel pump in the hands of someone else.

Misfire squints up. No, he should remember a chin like that. Shouldn't he?

"Hello?" the jet tries.

"Pretty sure that corpse just _talked_."

"You sure you didn't imagine it?"

"You think that's the best my imagination can do?"

The bronze colored mech above him frowns and looks over his shoulder. "Flywheels is right. This one's alive, Krok."

Gradually making his approach, the one named Krok looks down. "Hm. Fully functional?"

"Got all his parts in order, according to Spinister. I'll, uh. Just put the fuel pump back?"

"Do that."

"What's going on?" Misfire glances around, more in confusion than fear. This doesn't seem right. Is this the right place?

"Hold still." There's a small huff of annoyance from the small, lanky-looking Decepticon tending to him. This feels awkwardly familiar. "Sorry. We came across you when we were looking for spare parts."

Not even remotely upset about that factor, Misfire gives his surroundings a look. Five different Decepticons, all barely holding together. Their optics are (familiarly) dim from lack of proper fuel. It seems like he should know this situation.

But he can't make the connection.

"So long as I get my parts back right where they ought to be, then." Misfire grins. "You should introduce me to everyone!"

"I, uh." The bronze mech peers at him. "I don't even know your name-"

"Misfire!"

"Oh. I'm Fulcrum." He shrugs. "Is your name accurate?"

Misfire grins sheepishly. "Well, that's a long story, actually."

Briefly, his mind reels. He remembers. The room with the body parts, that belonged to at least a dozen people. The list that was shown to him.

That. No. That doesn't matter now. Does it?

After some help to his feet, Misfire leans on Fulcrum's shoulder. "Go on! Tell me who everyone else is."

"Um." Fulcrum tries to shove him off, yet somehow the smaller mech's strength is so miniscule that he doesn't even budge the jet. "All right, guess I will."

It's like a sudden rush through Misfire.

Quickly the scenes move. He learns all of their names, their quirks. He feels like he's known them forever but there's been no time at all. The amount of speed and lack of attention span throws them off. Crankcase complains, Spinister is confused, Krok sighs and shakes his head, Flywheels offers a hesitant smile, and Fulcrum just rolls his optics as Misfire bugs him and drapes himself over his shoulders. _At least we have another flier_ is what is offered by the K-Con. When they huddle around the fire, Misfire gets close and Fulcrum doesn't bother trying to shove him off anymore. There might be a smile, it's hard to say, and Misfire is just comfortable and  
somewhere along the way  
there's a Dynobot  
and there's the Decepticon Justice Division

It all stops and becomes irrelevant when Fulcrum runs and runs and runs to the top of the crashed ship. Misfire knows what this means and this time, he chases him. There's sudden fear in him, and he doesn't like this feeling.

He reaches out, grabbing Fulcrum's wrist. "Don't! Don't jump. You still have your-"

"Payload? I know." Fulcrum shakes his head. "I can't fight. I'm not that strong. I can _jump_, though."

Misfire, who can't aim at anything and misses.

Fulcrum, who supports underneath.

"Let me go, Misfire."

"I can't. I can't do it."

The list. He remembers the list.

Not from the D.J.D., but from **Him** and it's too much, and he can't let go.

He can't let any of them go.

"You big idiot." Though the way it's spoken, it's almost said _fondly_, with Fulcrum smiling a little bit. "I have to jump. That's how it goes."

Misfire can't seem to sort it out, how Fulcrum somehow escapes his grip no matter how tight he holds on. He watches as the K-Con leaps and transforms.

And it's all gone.

* * *

Misfire sits up sharply, exhaling. There's a tremor running through him so hard that he feels like his plating is going to come off. He looks up at the ceiling. The fan.

It's clockwise.

There are empty vials around him, though not all are gone. It doesn't matter now, though. He's had his chase. He's followed the Necrobot and found himself still unsatisfied. Frightened, now, so suddenly at the idea of _loss._ Before he'd been able to pass it off a little bit; if one of them fell, they could make use of the parts. That's how it goes.

But the idea of something happening to Fulcrum brings this weird sense of terror that bothers him.

Slowly, Misfire stands up. He'll sort out the vials a little bit later. For now, he checks up on his chronometer.

Ten minutes until launch.

The jet walks through the ship, looking in on the others. Krok is sitting with Spinister in the medbay patiently, the medic staring at the floor as their leader murmurs a story from one of the battles of the war to coax the violent surgeon. On the bridge, Crankcase grouses and grumbles as he tries to shove Grimlock off of the pilot chair with little success.

Fulcrum sits in the engine room, datapads piled around him. The K-Con glances up as Misfire steps inside.

"Sooo... what're you doing?" the jet asks, tapping his fingers against the doorway.

"The merchants gave me a lot of maps and data. I missed some years on the war, and while I'm sure Krok could fill me in on a lot of the more important bits, I like having some details down." Fulcrum shrugs. "What's up? Where have you been for the past hour? It was quiet."

"Just havin' a bit of me-time." Sliding into the room, the door closes behind Misfire. "Listen, loser - uh. Fulcrum. I've been thinking about before."

"About what, exactly?" Fulcrum glances up from his datapads, as if hearing his name from Misfire means that's serious business.

Misfire shrugs a little. "You've been upset since the Raiders. I mean, you're better now, but you're still not quite yourself. And you were upset after what happened with the Cerebnum, too."

"I was stomped on by a guy that turns into a tank and I wasn't a big fan of everyone getting their minds messed with. I'm gonna be upset about it."

"That's not what you said before." Misfire rubs the back of his neck, trying to not sound frustrated or accusatory. "You said that I wouldn't understand. And maybe I wouldn't, not really, because I _know_ we're all different and everything, but it's like I said. You aren't alone." There's a small sigh from the K-Con. The jet holds out his hands helplessly. "I want to help you. So, would you please talk to me?"

"Misfire..." Fulcrum looks down again at the datapads, then back up to the jet. "I've had a lot on my mind. And I mean that. I'm still bothered by what happened at Styx. I keep trying to turn away from it, but it just seems like there's a lot of reminders. I miss my old frame, and that tank, he..." His shoulders slump. "I knew him. From before. His name's Barracks, and... and he was one of the guards at Styx, okay? I recognized him, and he remembered _me_."

It all has to boil down to that. Styx and the K-Class. It's hard to forget and they all have their nightmares and demons, but most of them can hide from it most of the time.

Fulcrum just has to look in the mirror for his reminders and Misfire supposes that can't be very helpful.

"C'mere." Misfire holds out his arms.

Briefly, Fulcrum looks at the outstretched arms, then up to the jet. "...What?"

"C'mon! The offer's gonna expire if you keep waiting. Hurry up, pinhead."

"Um." Warily, Fulcrum stands up and approaches the jet. When he gets close enough, he gives off a small _oof_ and Misfire is grabbing him up into a tight embrace. Not enough to crush the little K-Classer, but he's essentially blanketed in all that is Misfire due to his smaller size. To his satisfaction, Fulcrum is not struggling or fighting, but relaxing against him.

That's more like it.

"I know my focus isn't great," Misfire admits. "But I'm not stupid. We're friends, yeah?"

"Yeah. Okay." Fulcrum leans a little against him. "...Thanks, Misfire."

"Great. Fantastic. Now come here."

"What- _hey!_"

Catching the technician by surprise, Misfire gathers up Fulcrum into his arms with a sharp smile. Without any mercy, he begins to wriggle his fingers over Fulcrum's torso and sides, all the while still holding him up.

"S-stop!" Fulcrum tries to kick, but it's completely effectless as he wriggles and laughs from the tickling. "I swear to fragging _Primus_-! MISFIRE! You big idiot!"

"There you go! That's more like it, loser!"

When the chuckling escalates to outright screeching giggles, that's when the satisfaction hits Misfire. He stops and sits down, clutching the K-Con to himself. Tiredly, Fulcrum gives him an ineffective shove to the shoulder.

But there's no fighting. Fulcrum is still giving the aftershock of snickers from the tickling.

It's better to see him this way.

* * *

The _Weak Anthropic Prinicple_ finally starts up. The repairs are done as much as can be, and on schedule, Crankcase pilots their rickety ship away from the station at long last.

As they go, things seem more relaxed by comparison. Not perfect, but Spinister seems to have forgotten why he was even upset to begin with and Fulcrum tolerates Misfire's teasing with more of a smile.

"You ever find him?" Krok asks as he passes by Misfire.

Him? Does Krok mean... the Necrobot? Did that transmission actually happen? Misfire looks at him for a moment, as if unsure how to respond, then he shrugs. "Didn't get what I was looking for. I'll go find 'im again another day, Krok."

There's a pause, then Krok nods. "Fair enough."

It's true, what Misfire says; he didn't really find what he was looking for. Not this time, anyway. But he did have some thought on what feels important right now. That ought to be good enough.

No. They're not perfect.

But this is all they have and they'll get by. They always do.


	11. INTERLUDE: Trips and Tricks

**CHAPTER: **INTERLUDE G - "Trips and Tricks"  
**CONTINUITY:** Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics  
**RATING:** PG for big dumb robots.  
**SUMMARY:** Fulcrum does something he shouldn't.  
**DISCLAIMER:** None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.

* * *

It's not that Misfire really expects to hear any kind of noise from his room while he's not in it, but the fact that he hears hysterical sobbing on the other side of the door as he makes his way back seems incredibly weird and incredibly spooky.

His first thought is maybe it's a ghost.

His second thought is maybe that's a dumb idea.

Warily, Misfire opens the door to peer inside, glancing around as he still hears the sounds of muffled crying. He notes that his stash of vials he'd gotten from the station are on display, which they shouldn't be. The box _should_ be closed. Instead, it's open, and looking down to the floor, he spots the source of the whimpering.

"Loser?" Misfire pushes the door open completely, stepping inside to approach the crumpled form of the K-Con. "Hey, I thought you were feeling better. What's all this?"

"I feel _terrible_," Fulcrum groans out, burying his face into his hands.

A horrible feeling of realization hits him. Misfire stares at his open box of vials, then back down to Fulcrum. "You didn't..."

"I wanted to ask you something, and... and then I got kind of impatient and started to look around and I thought it was energon and... and got kinda upset, that maybe you were holding out on us...? Then... _then_..." Fulcrum trails off, his voice squeaking off into a mess of sniveling.

"So you got a vial, I take it," Misfire concludes with a wince, which is confirmed by a slow, depressed nod from Fulcrum. "Did you just have a sip or...?"

"Nuh-uh." Weakly, Fulcrum holds up an empty vial.

"_Ohhhh_ no." Just one vial of contents of these various drinks wouldn't knock Misfire off his feet for long, but for someone like _Fulcrum_ who probably hasn't had anything harder than maybe a bit of engex in his little technician life?

This is going to be awhile.

"My perspective's all off," Fulcrum garbles out words, voice distressed.

"Right, I know. C'mon." Slowly, Misfire yanks Fulcrum to his feet, dragging him over to the recharge slab. "You're gonna lay down on something proper until you get this out of your system."

"You want me to _sleep?_" Fulcrum practically shrieks, his optics widening.

There's a sheepish smile given to Fulcrum. "That's the idea. Here you go, get comfy." Gently, he lays the K-Classer down to the berth before he hops onto the other side. "No worries, you'll have some company."

"But... but what if I don't wake up?"

"You didn't drink anything that's gonna kill you. Just gonna put you out for awhile, pinhead." There's a pause of consideration from Misfire before he peers down at Fulcrum. "What did you want to talk to me about anyway?"

"I can't... _words._ Um." Tiredly, yellow optics look up at Misfire. "Don't- don't let me forget. Styx."

"Styx?" What about it? Misfire shrugs. "All right. When you wake up, we'll talk about it.

"Okay." Finally, Fulcrum's optics go dim. "Yeah, okay. Sounds good."


	12. INTERLUDE: There He Watched

**CHAPTER**: INTERLUDE H - "There He Watched"  
**CONTINUITY**: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics  
**RATING**: PG for big dumb robots.  
**SUMMARY**: Thinking is hard. Thinking is difficult. The connections are made anyway.  
**DISCLAIMER**: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.

* * *

Slowly, he turns away from one of the rooms. Fulcrum, tired? Sick. Misfire, looking after Fulcrum. That's good. That is good enough. Misfire tell him: _Not now, okay? He just needs some rest._

That is good.

He thinks hard on what happened before. The items that Fulcrum was sort, learning. Many of them were documents and words that he couldn't quite absorb, but Fulcrum wanted to learn. He kept reading, patting him on the head, and mumbling softly.

Then there was something important. Something he found that made him run to find Misfire.

There was an important thing.

Slowly, he makes his way back to Fulcrum's room, sniffing around. That item. That thing. What was it? What was so important for him?

There. On the workbench.

He finds himself transforming, slouching over as he peers down at the item. He does not understand it, like it's out of his reach. Something not quite connecting. But he knows that it is important for the Fulcrum.

So the item is grabbed. Held. Something pushes in. A button. A button is pushed.

A large picture displays. It is familiar to him, but not. Something ... something so close into his reach. The information is slowly taken in, processed. It is a picture of a place. Of a prison.

He knows of a prison. Far, far away.

Slowly, he sets the holographic projector back down to the workbench, and he glares as something familiar fills him. Anger. Rage.

Less familiar. _Fear._

Hands curl into fists. His body trembles.

He remembers. Bits and pieces. Enough to terrify him, to entice fury. Bad things happened there. Bad things happen in prisons. _Very very bad things._ And Fulcrum was in a prison once. Like Grimlock. That is bad.

With a snarl, Grimlock exhales out a single word.

"_Overlord._"


	13. INTERLUDE: Who Cares About the Zoo?

**CHAPTER**: INTERLUDE I - "Who Cares About the Zoo?"  
**CONTINUITY**: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics  
**RATING**: PG for big dumb robots.  
**SUMMARY**: Crankcase exercises his social skills.  
**DISCLAIMER**: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.

* * *

The _Weak Anthropic Princple_ isn't very big for a Decepticon ship. It's not impressive, it's the biggest pile of scrap that Crankcase has, sadly, the misfortune of piloting. There have been countless times in which he's been forced to put the Pit-blasted thing back together. Each and every time, he spits at it, curses it for existing, and yet he still puts every fiber of concentration into putting the heap back together. Because their lives depend on it, because especially his life depends on it, and in reality he has little else to care about but an inanimate object.

It's not that he necessarily _hates_ anyone on the ship, despite what he would have just about anyone else believe. Reluctantly, Krok has his respect, because anyone in their right mind on his crew would have a hard time not feeling it. It's also hard to not outright pity someone so loyal and stubborn. It's a factor that so few Decepticons have and it makes Crankcase feel immensely troubled. He doesn't want to like Krok. Sometimes, he really wishes he could hate him for it, but he just _can't._ So, no, Crankcase doesn't really loathe anyone in particular, but this crew is just.

Strange.

It also rubs him the wrong way.

"How's the inventory for spare body parts?"

"Not great? I mean, we spent a lot of them fixing you and Fulcrum up after Clemency. I don't have any optics left, but we have a few arms and stuff."

"Hmm. Here. Help me count them."

Crankcase doesn't pause for long outside the medbay, curling his fingers into loose fists as he steps further down the hallway.

"Are you serious? Killmaster? With the whole-"

"Yeah, with the wand and everything."

"_Killmaster?_"

"Don't get me started, he's really weird about the wand."

Outside the engine room, Grimlock sits in his robot mode, placing all of his concentration in looking at the floor with his optics narrowed. He barely glances up when Crankcase pauses there, hearing Fulcrum and Misfire chat it up together with the Dynobot sitting and waiting for them like some big dumb pet.

Crankcase scowls and shakes his head before he heads to the bridge. Practically collapsing into his seat, it gives a familiar creak as he kicks his feet up onto the console and stares out the front windows. All that greets his optics now is endless space.

He folds his fingers together, trying not to dwell, but when only the hum of the ship is there to greet him and keep him company, Crankcase snorts. Miserably, he folds his arms and leans his head back. Red optics dim and he grumbles, "Who needs 'em?"

Bitterness is nothing new to him.


	14. A Quality of Action

**CHAPTER**: FIVE - "A Quality of Action"  
**CONTINUITY**: Transformers: More Than Meets the Eye | IDW Comics  
**RATING**: PG-13 for various bits of mention of robot gore.  
**SUMMARY**: Fulcrum tries to find a way to stop being so afraid.  
**DISCLAIMER**: None of the characters are owned by the author, simply written for amusement and the fact that the Scavengers don't receive nearly enough attention as they ought to.  
**NOTE**: Thank you so much for the beta help, Obfuscobble! You are one of a kind.

* * *

"Now, I don't usually say this often, loser. But this is a dumb plan. An incredibly stupid plan that will resolve _aaaabsolutley_ nothing! Krok's never going to go for it."

"I really appreciate the vote of confidence, Misfire. _Truly._"

It seems like he really was an idiot, going to Misfire first. Logically, it would have been better to sort this kind of thing out with Krok; after all, he's the commanding officer, and Fulcrum can't technically do anything about the situation without getting approval from him first. Emotionally, though, it felt easier to just go to the jet before anyone else. Fulcrum is fond of everyone in ship, even Grimlock. That's not at all hard to see, but on some personal level he's most often spoken to or shared with Misfire.

Maybe it's just how insistent the jet is, trying his best to be supportive and be a good friend. For all of strangeness they've been through together, in the end, Misfire's _tried_, and that's really all Fulcrum could ask of anyone.

Still, sharing his findings and his plans probably wasn't the best idea. Not that Fulcrum is even sure what kind of response he'd been expecting.

"Come on, loser, it's just- _Fulcrum!_" Misfire tries to snag the K-Con's shoulder, but it's a gesture smoothly avoided. "Would you even take a moment to think about what you're going to ask Krok?"

Fulcrum pauses midstride to look at his friend. Most would easily shrug off Misfire as a hyperactive idiot and, yeah sure, he can be at times. But it makes it easy to underestimate him. Makes it easy to forget that under the energy ball that is Misfire, he is also a _very_ clever Decepticon.

It'd be stupid to not listen.

Right now, Fulcrum isn't feeling very smart.

"I know what I'm asking. And he doesn't need to say yes," Fulcrum informs him. With a frustrated sigh, he asks, "Would you just back me up? We're friends, right?"

Briefly, Misfire just says nothing, looking extremely uncomfortable. Then, he gives a helpless shrug. "Is it gonna help you?"

"It'd be a start."

Misfire rubs the back of his helm. "Then I suppose that I've got your back on this. Even if I think it's still a little nutty, but I'm here, yeah?"

Relief washes over Fulcrum at the agreement. "Thanks."

By the time that he arrives in Krok's quarters, he suddenly feels a bit less bold. Fulcrum _respects_ Krok and making this kind of request is probably utterly unreasonable for several reasons. Wasting his commanding officer's time isn't going to benefit anyone and Krok waits with an expecting look, silently demanding to know why the K-Con is currently present.

Reminding himself of _why_ he's here, though, is inspiring enough. With clenched hands, Fulcrum steels himself and explains. At his side, Misfire looks completely uncertain, but he bites his lip to refrain from speaking. That can't be easy for him to do and, quietly, Fulcrum appreciates it.

When he's done, Fulcrum doesn't feel any less fired up. He waits, staring at Krok as it seems he's taking his time processing the words just spoken. The wait aches hard enough to make Fulcrum's back plating twitch and throb, unsure of what to expect as a reaction.

Then, Krok slowly folds his hands together.

"So let me see if I understand." Calmly, Krok stares directly at Fulcrum, their optics locking. "You want to go _back_ to Styx, rig an explosive in your old cell, and blow it up."

"When you say it like that, it makes it sound kind of lame," Fulcrum mumbles.

"Currently, I'm trying to think of how many ways I can tell you _no._"

"That's not your right," comes blurting out of Fulcrum before he can help it. Hesitantly, when Krok narrows his optics, he adds, "Sir." Fulcrum takes a moment to cycle some air in and out of his vents before he continues, "Look, no one _told me_ that Styx was decommissioned after the K-Class was basically... well, you know, _done._"

A slow exhale escapes Krok. "I didn't really see a point. After what happened with the Cerebnum, it seemed like a better idea to keep it to myself."

Not maliciously done. Why would it have been? Krok's been nothing but protective over his crew, and he certainly would keep it that way by selectively sharing and _not_ sharing information. Styx has been a sensitive topic, so why would he have bothered?

Fulcrum sighs a little. "I get that, and I appreciate you looking out for me. I still want to go. The information I got from the merchants on the station brought me up to speed on things that I've generally missed in the past few years, Styx being one of the brief topics. It's totally abandoned. If anything, we could probably pick up some scrap there while I'm doing my thing."

"That's a weak reason for us to go. All of us." With a shy bit more impatience, Krok leans back in his chair and peers at Fulcrum.

"I'm tired." For a moment, it just feels like his spark is _burning_. Anger, shame, and fear colliding together and part of him feeling like he could just burst. Not, of course, in a particularly _explosive_ way, but he aches inside. "Krok, I'm tired of running and being scared all the time. What I _want_ is to finally put a part of me to rest. I don't want to turn another corner tomorrow and be reminded of something horrible that's happened to me. I just want it to be done. Things would have gone a lot smoother if the Cerebnum didn't trigger something awful in my memories, or if I didn't freeze up on Jennix Station. I don't want to run and hide anymore."

There's another awful bout of silence in the room. The only noise is the squeak in Misfire's joints as he sways back and forth in some sort of strange effort to keep himself from vomiting up words that may or may not be relevant to the topic at hand. Still, he stands at Fulcrum's side, which is enough.

"Blowing up your old cell," Krok repeats, his tone a little more dry.

"I kinda feel like it's poetic justice," Fulcrum defends himself. "You guys did remove my payload, so we still _have it._ I want to use it. It's technically mine."

Whatever Krok is pondering is left as a mystery. He isn't sharing his thoughts, and it's a little hard to tell what else Fulcrum can interpret from his expression other than he is being incredibly thoughtful about this entire thing.

Eventually, he rises to his feet. "Don't get me wrong. I am not thrilled with this idea. But I understand it." With a tilt of his head, Krok proceeds with, "We'll make it quick as we can. I don't want a huge detour."

"I understand." Every bit of nervousness just leaves Fulcrum's frame suddenly. He wrings his hands together a little. "Thank you, Krok. I... just. Yeah."

"We all have our ghosts to deal with." Krok slowly looks down at his hand. "If you can deal with yours, well, then you're right. I don't have a place of telling you no."

"Krok..." What the hell can Fulcrum possibly say to that? To someone who still believes he can find his old crew?

"We're about ten hours out from Styx. I suggest you start getting yourself ready, and I'll let Crankcase know about our detour."

A bit helplessly, Fulcrum watches Krok leave the office. While he's glad that his point of view is understood, he can't help but feel a bit guilty for it in turn. _Pit._

Misfire finally lets out a heavy exhale of relief. "_Whew!_ Wow, that was a bit heavy!"

"Baggage usually is," Fulcrum mutters a little bitterly. "Don't you have any?"

"Too full of stuff. And bags. Awful bags of stuff." Misfire squints a little. "Some of us want to leave it behind rather than, you know, blowing it up and all."

* * *

Some grousing from Crankcase is to be expected at the order to make the stop, and Fulcrum accepts the grumbling, well learned from the embodiment of grouchiness of what to anticipate. Still, no one is really giving him a hard time about it, and he supposes that it's just gradually sinking in as to what he hopes to accomplish on Styx. A way for him to have a final farewell to his fears linked to the damned place.

Or maybe they sympathize in some way. It's hard to tell. In retrospect, Fulcrum admittedly doesn't know much about everyone's history. He's the one that's expressed his the most, although that's mostly because he didn't have a choice in the heat of the moment. He knows Spinister got a little worked up about the Raiders, and something happened to Krok's previous crew. But, really, that's _it._

He supposes that, in the end, it doesn't matter how they all got here on the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ under the command of one very paternal war historian and tactician. Still, it just weighs on him a little what Krok and Misfire said, in regards to ghosts and baggage. It seems like they all have their different ways of dealing with it.

Or just not at all.

With a weary sigh, Fulcrum stares out one of the muggy windows of the ship, watching familiar star alignments and trying not to shiver in anxiety of their approach. They can't be too far off from Styx now. Not that he's particularly eager to go back there, _ever_, but he thinks he might be relieved to get this confrontation over with.

There's a slow _thudding_ noise of heavy feet, a familiar sound of Grimlock's weight as he slowly walks. Gradually, the Dynobot steps closer to Fulcrum, stopping to stare down at him. Fulcrum turns and looks up, yellow optics a little wider now in confusion of the Autobot's presence. Even more so, Grimlock isn't in his usual reptilian mode at the moment. Was something wrong?

"Grimlock?" Fulcrum frowns a little. "Are you okay?"

In what appears to be very careful, very considerate pacing, Grimlock is lifting his chin gradually and peering out the window behind the K-Con. There's a slow, fiery huff of air from his vents. "Prison."

That's strange. Did someone tell Grimlock about it? "That's right," Fulcrum states warily. "We're going to a prison. But no one's there anymore."

Eventually, Grimlock's fierce red optics look down at Fulcrum. "Prison, bad."

It feels like Fulcrum's mind just goes blank at the statement, the very basic description. It's not inaccurate. He turns around, facing the window again with his back to Grimlock as he wraps his arms around himself. "That's right. It's... it's a very bad place."

A firm hand settles to Fulcrum's shoulder, almost causing him to jump. Grimlock's engine gives a soft growl before he speaks again, struggling with the words. "Mmm. Me Grimlock, go to bad prison. With you Fulcrum."

Oh. Fulcrum turns his head a little to look up at the Dynobot, offering a hesitant smile. "Grimlock, you don't have to go with me," he speaks slowly, enunciating to make sure that the Autobot understands.

"Me Grimlock _go_ with you Fulcrum," is repeated more simply, more sternly. "Prison, **_bad._**"

It's a bit strange to think, but there's the feeling that there's probably something more to what Grimlock is trying to say. Unfortunately, trying to get him to say the right words to properly describe anything would be a challenge too difficult for Fulcrum right now. Yet, he wants to say that Grimlock has a motive for going.

What could that possibly be, though? Grimlock barely remembered anything beyond his own name when they found him.

"Okay, okay. You can come with us," Fulcrum confirms.

There's a strong squeeze to his shoulder, a grip that's almost too tight. Not surprising, since at times Grimlock often forgets his own strength. With a nervous laugh, Fulcrum pats the Dynobot's hand. "Uh, easy. Easy there. My plating's not that strong, you know."

A soft grunt emits from Grimlock before the hand is eventually removed. With the pressure gone, Fulcrum smiles a little more easily.

No, he doesn't quite understand why the Dynobot is insisting on going, but he won't argue about having a little extra protection.

"_There's a small __**problem**__ with landing on Styx_," Crankcase abruptly announces over the intercom, not in the least hiding a snide tone.

Fulcrum sighs and lifts his wrist, speaking into his commlink. "What's the problem?"

"_This place is supposed to be abandoned, but I'm detecting a shuttle that's already there._"

Who in the Pit-?

"_I suggest we turn around,_" Crankcase states.

"No," Fulcrum replies immediately. "Krok, please! I-"

"_Fulcrum,_" Krok says, implying a warning. "_Crankcase, stay the course._" There's a pause of consideration before Krok adds, "_I don't like this idea, but it seems safest if we split off. Some stay behind, some go. I don't intend for this to be a very long trip._"

"_What you __**plan**__ and what actually happens don't tend to meet even halfway,_" Crankcase grumbles.

Krok sighs over the network. "_Then watch over the ship while we're gone._"

"_Don't mind if I do. I'm not getting involved in this place. Frankly, I don't think any of us should be._"

The intercom cuts out, and Fulcrum slowly turns towards a window to peer out at the familiar planet. He remembers how long he'd been here, waiting for his trial. He remembers even longer, how much time he'd spent in the prison.

No. Not now. Fulcrum clenches his hands into fists.

With a steady exhale, he heads down into the cargo bay. Right behind him, Grimlock follows, his heavy footsteps easy for him to recognize. Oddly enough, it's something of a comfort to have at his back, knowing that the Dynobot is coming along.

It's time to get this over with.

* * *

To both his relief and anxiety, the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ lands as close as possible to the facility that once was also Fulcrum's prison. When the cargo bay doors open, all he can do at first is stand there, optics ahead as he's speechless at the sight of the abandoned prison. Aside from their ship and the shuttle that's here, the landing zone is just full of dust and so much scrap metal that most of it is useless even to them. He remembers being here, the last place he was on Styx, each member of the K-Class lined up and commanded into a salute. Their last farewell to their prison, to their camp, and to their lives. Already he feels numb, but he's told himself already several times: he doesn't want to be afraid anymore.

Slowly, he steps forward.

Krok hadn't been keen at all about the group splitting up and it's not really a surprise to him. It seems like each time they do, it's a disaster waiting to happen, and that's probably something that Krok personalizes in some way. Honestly, it makes Fulcrum feel a little guilty, but they're here now. It's just them and... and whoever owns that shuttle.

"_Spinister and I will have a look at it,_" Crankcase reluctantly caves in over their commlinks. No one's really more well suited to find out amongst them, after all, considering the mechanic's background knowledge on aircrafts.

"Make sure you do," Krok returns gruffly, his tone very clear in his dissatisfaction in this situation. It makes Fulcrum cringe a little in guilt. "If _anything_ seems strange, you leave it alone and you call us."

Absently, Fulcrum rubs his arm as he slowly steps out into the area, trying not to think too much about what it reminds him of. The steady pace of Grimlock's heavy footsteps are still behind him, and he can see Misfire out of the corner of an optic. He isn't in this alone; he's going to be okay.

As Krok steps up alongside Fulcrum, he peers at him momentarily before inclining with his head. "Show us the way."

"Right." Fulcrum cycles out some nervous air from his vents. "Sure. I'll just, you know, go do that."

Gradually, he works up the nerve to head towards the giant gate. Closed, locked, but not impossible to gain entry to. Quietly, Fulcrum turns his attention to the nearby control panel, prying off the loose, rusty controls to work with the wires underneath. Eventually, with enough tweaking, the gates open, like the gaping maw of a beast opening, inviting its prey to its belly.

Not really the metaphor that's helping him feel better.

The hallway still has a taste of a memory for him as well as he starts to lead the way down. He remembers his very first arrival to Styx, how frightened he'd been then, how naive enough he was to think that maybe blabbering and begging for his life would have been enough. The guards had their laugh, and the day had been spent with him in cuffs, fearing for his life at the hands of his own faction, eventually being introduced to a cell that started one of many days here.

"Anyone _else_ unsettled by the silence here?" Misfire asks, huffing slightly.

Grimlock gives a low growl in his engine while Fulcrum snorts a little, "The planet's been abandoned for a while, Misfire."

"I mean _us._ A little conversation wouldn't hurt."

"I'm not really up for talking," Fulcrum grumbles, still trotting along. "I kind of have a lot going on in my head right now."

"Well, then it'd make for a good distraction, at least!" Misfire sighs. "The more you're lost in your own loser head, the worse you're gonna feel, I just know it."

"I really _don't_ feel like chatting. All right? Just leave me alone with this."

There's a low offended snort. "Fine."

Krok gives a weary glance to Fulcrum, optics narrowed slightly, but he doesn't say anything. Somehow, that's worse than Misfire's mild hurt at Fulcrum's insistence, knowing that right at this moment Krok is studying him, judging him for _whatever._ Maybe for dragging everyone down here to deal with his personal issues, maybe for brushing off Misfire, who the hell knows. Fulcrum is perfectly aware that he isn't the only one that suffers from some kind of tragedy, but he's the only one whose story was told to the entire crew, because he'd been a liar and a coward. Spinister has _something_ or other to do with the Raiders, Krok seems convinced that he'll find his unit, and Fulcrum has no idea what's going on in Grimlock's head. That leaves Misfire and Crankcase to their whatever-they-have in terms of an unfortunate history, which he should probably expect.

Frankly, in the war, who wouldn't have had something terrible happen to them? It's just, for Fulcrum, on the day when he'd been found by Krok and the others, Styx was just a day prior to that. What had been over a thousand years ago still feels like no time at all for him.

So while others have had time to start welding their wounds, Fulcrum is still dealing with all of _this._

Great, now he just feels paranoid along with his growing fear and sense of dread.

"_Krok, we had a look at the shuttle. I couldn't tell you __**exactly**__ what it means, but I can tell you it belongs to an Autobot,_" Crankcase mentions to the their commlink.

A wary look forms in Krok's optics. "Can you figure out where the shuttle's been or who it belongs to specifically?"

"_We'll see what I can dig up. Figured you wanted to know._"

"Suppose if we see an Autobot, just shoot him?" Misfire offers. Behind him, Grimlock gives a low growl. "Oh, not _you_, Grimsie."

"I'm willing to keep that as a possibility," Krok accepts, his tone paced as he thinks over the options.

Fulcrum shakes his head. "Why the hell would an Autobot have any interest in being in a place like this?"

"Why would a former convict?" Krok questions back, his voice sounding less confrontational and more thoughtful. "In any case, I'm not interested in a motivation. If the Autobot stays out of our way, then shooting won't become a problem. Crankcase, Spinister; if the Autobot comes back, feel free to take care of it."

"_We'll keep it in mind._"

The conversation ends and Krok has a new, contemplative look on his face. The additional complication is, undoubtedly, not favorable in the least and Fulcrum doesn't want to admit to feeling a bit responsible for it. Keeping _out_ of trouble is what they prefer, not really getting involved in it.

But Fulcrum says nothing, and Krok doesn't call him out on it. So their walk continues.

Gradually, they reach three different potential directions to go in. Each pathway isn't unfamiliar to Fulcrum. Not in the least.

"Which way?" Krok calmly requests.

Immediately, Fulcrum nods to the right. "That way to the prison cells and execution chambers. Ahead is the archives, and to the left is where they held their trials. For all the good they did."

"What would they need an archives section for?" Misfire holds up his hands, palms out. A gesture, as if to tell Fulcrum _take it easy now._ "Just curious."

"Prisoners list. General data. And I suppose probably the data for the modifications to become the K-Class." Fulcrum shrugs. "I don't know what else. It's not like I was really given that detailed of a tour and all."

"I, uh. I didn't mean-"

"I know," Fulcrum mutters. "You were _just curious._ Let's get this over with, okay?"

There's a hand that falls to Fulcrum's shoulder, nearly making the K-Con jump. There's a jerk and he finds himself looking at Krok, whose optics are narrowed again. Unwilling to put up more of a fight, Fulcrum just goes silent before he returns to leading.

The trek down the hallway is silent, save for their footsteps. It probably irritates Misfire, who has the zealous need to fill in everything with chatter, but right now it suits Fulcrum just fine. Not that he wants to remember this place, but he wants to be left alone to his own devices for the moment.

He remembers walking down this way for the first time when he'd been arrested. Sent away to his holding cell, to wait and wait and _wait_ dreadfully until the day of his sorry excuse of a trial arrived. Waiting was terrible, the trial was worse, and everything that came after.

Though Fulcrum would prefer to press on, he pauses only see that Grimlock has completely stopped. He's staring into one of the display windows of the hallway. A clear view of one of the execution chambers. No entryway to it, _just_ a visual.

"Grimlock?" Fulcrum calls for him, and he can't help but feel softer in a way for the Dynobot's behavior. When they had first found him, he was afraid of Grimlock - hard _not_ to be - but things have changed over the course of time. And the way Grimlock specifically asked to come? He's still trying to understand that.

Eventually, the K-Con places a hand to Grimlock's arm.

The Dynobot peers down at him, then looks back out the window.

"That's where they killed everyone," Fulcrum says quietly. "Not... quickly. But eventually. When the order for the K-Class configuration came down, pushed the equipment back and made this area a place of _instruction_, supposedly. More like they wanted us to be grateful that the K-Class would be a cleaner death than what was originally in order for us."

"Torture," is all Grimlock has to say to that. Somehow, the word surprises Fulcrum, as if the way it's said seems personal. Intimate.

Then, Fulcrum nods slowly as he warily looks out the display window. "Yeah. It was."

Grimlock goes silent, peering out the window for a moment longer before he snorts. Eventually, he turns, looking down at Fulcrum. Maybe a silent indication to keep leading. It's hard to say, but Fulcrum doesn't entirely understand the Dynobot and he doubts anyone on the _Weak Anthropic Principle_ really does, to be honest. Yet, he can't help but feel like there'd been something important that happened here for Grimlock. Something going on in his poor broken mind.

Gradually, Fulcrum turns to lead down the hallway again until it splits off. One way for the cells, the other for the execution chamber.

"So you get all _nice_ when Grimlock gets nosy, but you throw a little fit when I ask questions," Misfire huffs.

Krok sighs, rubbing his helm. "Misfire," he says, tone guarded.

Fulcrum whirls around, peering at the jet. "Grimlock was just looking out the window!"

"_Krok, there's a problem! Well, two problems,_" Crankcase hollers through the commlink.

"Please tell me it can wait," Krok grumbles as he glares at his present crewmembers.

"_Not at all._"

Misfire's wings twitch irritably. "All I did was ask you a question or two and you get all _angry_ at me! But you go easy on the Autobot _Dynobot._ That's not really fair."

"Grimlock doesn't know any better!" Fulcrum snaps defensively. "And you do! You know what this place means to me."

"_There was another shuttle. Not in the same landing bay as us, but we detected. It landed probably just an hour before us,_" Crankcase's voice sputters through.

"Knock it off, you two!" Krok orders.

Yet, it continues, with Misfire huffing, "Why would you even want to come back here, anyway? Wanna reminisce about the good ol' times, hmm?"

"Because I'm sick of being scared! All the time, at every little reminder!" Fulcrum argues back, completely ignoring Krok. "I told you about Barracks because I trust you. And now you're throwing this back in my face?!"

"_Who_ is Barracks? And I swear to the Pit if you two don't-" Krok snarls.

"_The other shuttle belongs to-_" Crankcase tries to edge in.

Misfire throws his hands up in the air. "Trust me, do you? Is that why you're snapping at me ever since we got here?!"

"I thought you'd understand, but apparently Grimlock's picked up on that sentiment better than _you!_" Fulcrum hisses.

"Well, fine! You might as well just do this stupid masochistic little task on your own!"

"_Maybe I will!_" Blind rage and frustration fills Fulcrum as he heads further down the hallway towards the split-off.

"**_SHUT IT!_**" their commanding officer shouts at them.

Behind Fulcrum, blast doors slam closed, completely cutting him off from the others. Before he can help himself, tremors flow through Fulcrum's body, fear clenching around his spark as he turns and looks at the doors. A shaking hand presses against the door.

"Guys?" he whispers into the commlink. "Please. Please open it. I wasn't serious, please!"

"_It-it wasn't us, pinhead,_" Misfire responds.

There's a steady roar from the other side of the door that even Fulcrum can hear. It belongs to Grimlock. The door shakes as the Dynobot slams into it, maybe trying to open it. It's hard to tell.

"Grimlock!" Fulcrum calls out. "G-get me out! Please!"

For all of the might the Dynobot has, it's not enough to force the door to open. Which makes sense, in retrospect. Why _would_ it open? It was made to withstand even the toughest of Decepticon criminals of all sizes. Not just small, lanky, weak technicians, but powerful tank-based grunt soldiers who decided to go rogue. There's no way that Grimlock can open it.

Yet, the Autobot tries, all of his fury spilled onto the door. Fulcrum can faintly feel heat against it. Maybe Grimlock is trying to melt it, but he isn't successful.

Grimlock won't be able to get through. He won't be able to help Fulcrum.

"Stop. You can stop," Fulcrum mumbles into the commlink. "Grimlock..."

It's gradual, but he feels less pounding fury against the door.

A sigh breaks through the commlink. "_Like I was trying to say, another shuttle landed here an hour ago. It belongs to one of the Raiders from Jennix Station. Soon as we found out, Spinister took off._" Crankcase's tone is seething and impatient. "_What the hell happened on your side?_"

"_A door shut, cutting us off from Fulcrum. Crankcase, we need you to direct us a way to open that door. Spinister, answer your fragging comm!_" The utter fury in Krok's voice is not something that Fulcrum hopes to deal with anytime soon.

"I'm sorry. I'm sorry, please- please open it," Fulcrum sputters out, rambling, his voice hiccuping in fright. "Don't leave me here!"

"_Shut up and listen to me, Fulcrum._" The K-Con shuts his mouth obediently, trying to stifle any unwanted noises that would indicate how scared he is. "_We'll get you out of there. But you need to be patient. Hide, if you have to. But I'm not going to leave you behind. Understand?_"

Fulcrum feels like collapsing into a heap, no matter how pathetic that notion is. Pressing his forehead against the door, he exhales sharply before he forces a word out, "Okay."

"_Can't Fulcrum just, you know, hijack the door like before?_" Misfire mentions.

A small bitter laugh escapes from Fulcrum. "There's no control panel nearby this door. It's meant to shut prisoners inside, Misfire."

"_Oh... Um. For the record, I. I'm really sorry. For being a twit,_" Misfire offers quietly.

"I was an idiot, too," Fulcrum mumbles miserably.

"_You both were. Believe me, you'll make up for it later. Crankcase, guide us,_" Krok commands.

There's a grumble from the mechanic. "_Hold on, I'm opening up the map._"

"_And Spinister, answer already!_"

As the silence settles in, it gradually starts to strike Fulcrum as strange that Spinister simply won't respond. Granted, he can be violence-prone and he seems to be somewhat single-minded about the Raiders, but he never disobeys Krok. He listens to him. So why is Spinister so quiet?

The commlink sputters with static suddenly. Fulcrum winces, peering down reluctantly at his wrist, then he feels an awful shiver through his plating as he listens to an incredibly familiar chuckle, deep and yet off-kilter. He forgets to cycle his vents.

"_Please tell me you're going to run, Fulcrum,_" Barracks whispers into their communications.

A strangled sounding shriek escapes from the K-Con as he finds himself taking off blindly down the hallway.

* * *

"Fulcrum! Answer me!" Krok demands through his commlink. Behind him, Misfire paces in a small circle nervously while Grimlock gives a groan of confusion over the entire matter. "Fulcrum!"

"_I'm not __**terribly**__ interested in the rest of you, but if you get in the way, you'll die._"

"When I find you, you'll die," Krok promises coldly.

All he receives in response is a burst of static. Presumably, it was the Raider who owns that shuttle that Crankcase had discovered. So one shuttle belonged to some Autobot, then another to a Raider. Are they at all connected? Either way, Krok would be fine about killing _both_ of them for this trouble!

Misfire rushes up to Krok, wings trembling in a panic. "I can't tell you possibly how terrible this is! On a scale from one to ten, this is off the scale right into the Pit full of horrible and awful and whosits and whatsits! Krok, what do we do?"

"Settle," the historian instructs him sternly. "And listen to me. Grimlock, follow me as much as you can. There's no control panel for this door, which means we need to find a way to disconnect the power for most of the section for the cells and the execution chambers. Crankcase could guide us, in theory."

"But the Raider can hear us," Misfire adds warily.

Krok nods slowly. "With that in mind, Crankcase could try to give us the directions anyway, or more likely we'll have to do it on our own. Misfire, tell me about this Raider. Now."

"I, um. I don't know much," Misfire admits. "He used to be a guard here? Fulcrum knew him. Then we ran into him during the raiding party on Jennix Station. He was after Fulcrum then. I seriously don't know anything else other than that."

"It's safe to say that he's interested in harming him and that's enough to know." Krok folds his arms. "Spinister's also out there and silent."

"So...? What, we just try to run around blindly? We don't know where anything is here!"

Krok peers at him. "It stands to reason that we can find information probably in the archives section. So, that's where we're headed." Bringing up his wrist, he speaks warily though the commlink. "Crankcase, forget all of my orders. No arguing. Don't reply. Krok, out."

This isn't a simple matter for him, to keep a cool head. It bothered him enough to split up upon arriving here, in an abandoned prison, but now it's gotten incredibly worse. Spinister is out there, somewhere, being uncharacteristically quiet. Which means he's in trouble. Crankase is on his own, and Fulcrum is being chased around by an old foe who means to do him harm. Rage boils inside his tanks, but Krok does his best to keep calm.

Anything else will just get his unit killed. He can't bear to let that happen.

Clenching his fists, he sets off to backtrack, glancing briefly over his shoulders to make sure that both Grimlock and Misfire are following. They are, though each of them occasionally look reluctantly back at the blast doors. He isn't a fool and it's his business to know what his crew is up to; Krok is well aware of how fond of the K-Con each of them are, in their own ways. Misfire and Grimlock are no exception. Hell, despite the trouble Fulcrum can occasionally cause them, none of them are innocent of that trait.

He's part of the unit. Krok _won't_ let him go.

Warily, Krok squints as they make their way into the archives. All of the computers are humming, alive and functional. Frankly, the fact that electricity is running at all in this place seems strange to him, considering it had been abandoned some years ago.

Which means, someone went out of their way to power everything on.

"Misfire, help me try to find anything that might help us figure out how to open those doors. Grimlock, just..." Krok peers up at the Dynobot. "Just stay put."

There's a dissatisfied snort from the Autobot. The apparent recovering intelligence from Grimlock does not thrill Krok in the least.

The war historian pulls up a chair and settles in front of one of the consoles. It seems to have been recently used, Krok realizes. From the way it reacts as he begins his searches, he can determine a search history from the previous user.

Most of them on the K-Class. Who the hell was looking up data on the K-Class? If Misfire's right about Barracks, there's no need; he was a guard here at Styx. He has no reason to want to know anything about the K-Class because he _already_ knows. So why the interest?

"Oh, so that's what he looked like."

Krok turns his head to peer at Misfire, who sounds interested in whatever he's looking at. He peers up at the screen, and it looks like a screen of data on Fulcrum. General stats, previous military positions he held, primary function, reason for conviction, his death sentence, and a picture of him. Pre-modification. It's not hard to recognize him; the chin stands out, and Krok has, technically, seen Fulcrum in his previous body before when they were dealing with the Cerebnum.

"I told you to try to find information on getting the doors open," Krok reminds him, trying to not let his annoyance filter into his tone.

"I am! Honest!" Alarmed, Misfire's wings twitch and he waves his hands. "I thought, maybe, if we did a search, we could figure out where Fulcrum could end up here or something on Barracks or whatever."

Absently, Krok rubs the front of his helm. "By doing a search on Fulcrum."

"It was a perfectly logical line of thinking, I'll have you know." Misfire huffs. "He was sort of colorful, wasn't he? For a Decepticon, I mean."

"_Focus._"

"Fine, fine."

It's not hard to find a map of the complex they're currently in, and that helps immensely, at least. As Krok peers up at the screen, he tries to not let himself be distracted with the fact that Misfire is looking up information on their lost K-Classer. It's not that Krok isn't curious; he inherently _is_ when it comes to his unit. However, he also understands when something is private, to be respected and not investigated. He doesn't need to know all of the details about the horrible things that have happened to everyone, because it inevitably has happened in this crew. Hell, he suspects that includes Grimlock, who he shouldn't feel sorry for in the least.

Krok peers over the map in front of him, following where the main power is located. That's an alternative, but he's more interested in finding the access codes.

In the next moment, he regrets trusting Misfire's ability to focus, because he doesn't always. The jet is clever and more intelligent than he lets on, but he can be single-minded in the worst of ways and often very flighty.

This, he realizes, because suddenly the speakers are blaring with awful noise of something previously recorded: an all-too-familiar whimper, and what sounds like drills whirring through metal and liquid.

Krok can't help but look up.

The traitor's wheel, with enormous drills turning inside of the palms and feet of its victim as they are so slowly torn limb from limb. It's not so hard to figure out what the video is of, who is supposed to be executed.

"_How long until his spark gives out?_"

"_This guy? I'm thinking just a day. Most of 'em last at least a few days, but-_"

"Misfire," Krok growls.

"I didn't think-" Misfire starts.

The whirring grows louder, and the screaming starts. It's an awful series of reactions thereafter. Misfire sputters and scrambles to turn it off, all the while it somehow triggers Grimlock into letting out a thunderous snarl of rage before running off. Cursing under a vent of air, Krok shoves Misfire away from the console.

"Stop," Krok orders, "and go after Grimlock!"

"I. Uh." Misfire's wings flick. "Right, I'm on it!"

Trying to not let seething anger take over his entire processor, Krok scowls as he watches the jet take off after Grimlock, calling after the Dynobot. Despite being flawed in the ways of focusing on particular tasks, Misfire and Fulcrum perform well enough in regards to getting the Autobot to listen to them. He'll have to trust that Misfire will be successful.

He lets out steady air from his vents, then glances at the data that Misfire's pulled up on their missing technician. Krok pauses, then considers.

He considers what he should do with the open data.

* * *

This is the exact opposite of everything he'd been hoping for by coming here.

Panic screams throughout Fulcrum's entire body as he runs through the complex. He doesn't pay much attention as to where he's going, not as long as he can get to somewhere that's a good hiding place. Somewhere that can get him as far as he can from Barracks. Fear makes it feel like there's a clenching sensation around his spark, and he nearly stumbles as he keeps running, and running, and running.

Memories bite at the back of his mind and he tries his best to not recall his stay at Styx. The guards had always been unbearable. Most of them sneered and taunted him amongst the other prisoners. Some would go out of their way to make it worse. The most prominent he can recall amongst them had been Barracks. Nothing but a psychopathic bully, one of the best examples he can think of that he'd personally experienced of the deranged side of the Decepticon military. Fulcrum, a technician who'd been convicted of cowardice, was the _traitor_ while Barracks, a violent sadistic guard of Styx, was never charged of a single thing.

Just doing his job.

Fulcrum slows himself down, and he steps in a nervous circle, turning and trying to figure out where he is. This, this is where the modifications happened for the K-Class. For all of the prisoners.

Cycling his vents quickly, Fulcrum backs up slowly until the back of his thighs bump against the edge of one of the berths. He tries to not stare too long, his optics darting around the room that had changed his entire body. Somewhere on the floor are scattered remains of a former life for him, amongst others who had been modified.

He tries to not think about it.

Abruptly, he hears transformation sounds right behind him, and he feels the berth pull away. Alarmed, Fulcrum starts to try to turn around, but a hand slams over his mouth and a strong arm wraps around his midsection. He screams, his voice completely muffled by the hand. Frantically, he kicks and struggles, trying to throw off the superior weight and strength.

"Don't move, K-Con." The voice by his audial is cold-sounding, tired. Not Barracks, but still familiar and that's definitely a bad thing!

He tries to kick and struggle, but he's firmly pinned by the larger mech's grip. There's the sound of something whirring behind him, and slowly coming into view is a buzzsaw on some sort of mechanical arm extension, turning and inching towards his face. Fulcrum _shrieks_ against the palm over his mouth, trying to beg for his life.

"_I'll be right there, Fulcrum,_" Barracks promises through his commlink, and his body trembles as he feels a pleading, shameful sob break cry out agianst the hand.

The buzzsaw stops, then slowly withdraws. "Fulcrum?"

Suddenly Fulcrum is being released and he nearly trips over his own feet as he scrambles away, turning around to face his attacker. Then, he just _stares_ in confusion. "Gladbag?"

That's where he's heard the voice before. The one Autobot that they had let go in the attack from Blithe not that long ago. The Autobot medic peers down at Fulcrum, his bland looking optics narrowed slightly. He remembers how unremarkable Gladbag's paintjob had been, all graytone, and it seems like that hasn't changed. Somehow he'd missed it when they first met - then again, Fulcrum was busy trying to _not die_ and not let Misfire die at the time - but there's a third arm on Gladbag's back, ending in a buzzsaw. It slowly withdraws, snapping back into some sort of location on the Autobot's back.

What has changed is that his Autobot badge is missing.

Not that Fulcrum cares too much at the moment.

"What- what the _hell_ are you doing here?" Fulcrum stammers out.

"Am I not free to go where I choose?" Gladbag folds his arms. "And what about you?"

"Right now?" Fulcrum gives a humorless laugh. "I'm trying to run away right now!"

"Wasn't one of your crewmates coming for you?"

"That wasn't- that is definitely _not_ one of them!" Fulcrum glances around nervously. "Look, this is bad for you and me both. There's an ex-Decepticon looking for me and I'm pretty sure he isn't going to have any problem looking to kill you when he does!"

There's a brief pause as Gladbag continues to stare down at Fulcrum, processing that data, then he nods. "Then I understand. If we cross paths, he would immediately become my problem. I'll help you escape from him, but then you'll have to answer my questions."

"I... look, whatever! Fine! Just help me get away from him."

"Do exactly as I say, and I will." Taking a step back, Gladbag's plating shifts as he transforms. Thinking back, Fulcrum had assumed that he was a groundpounder of some kind, but apparently, this medic's alt-mode is...

"A berth?" Fulcrum sputters out.

"Autopsy table," Gladbag clarifies with a weary sigh. Well, that doesn't sound terrifying!

"How do you get anywhere?"

"How do you?"

Fulcrum squints at him. "...Touché."

"Now lay down on me."

"_Excuse_ me?" This is quickly sounding like a bad idea.

"Fulcrum, lay down on your back on top of me. Hurry."

There's a hesitant look as the K-Con peers down at the table in front of him. He might not have much time, though. Not from the way Barracks made his approach sound so definite. With a defeated slump of his posture, he slowly crawls on top of the table, turning to lay down onto his back. As he settles his weight, cuffs abruptly snap close over his wrists and ankles, trapping Fulcrum on top of Gladbag.

"Wh-what?! Let me go!" Panicking, Fulcrum starts to struggle, hyperventing air in and out.

"I know this is hard, but please try to trust me."

He almost yells at Gladbag to let him go, but he stops when he feels it. There's a tremor under him, as if something big and heavy is approaching. That's one of two possible people, and he doubts it's Grimlock.

Fulcrum tries to stifle his whimper. He fails.

Slowly stepping through one of the doors is him. All too familiar. Too damned big, with his shoulders nearly scraping against the doorframe. Little has changed about his appearance other than more scrapes and scars than before - some of them oddly fresh - as well as the giant gash across his Decepticon emblem, signifying his place as a Raider. Otherwise? Otherwise, not much is different about him. The treads on Barracks' back turning slightly, as if his interest is piqued. Uncomfortably, their optics meet as Barracks steps inside. Yellow glows in fear, red shines fiercely in amusement, and he wears a familiar grin.

Dangling in his hand is an arm, dripping with freshly spilt energon. It occurs to Fulcrum very quickly who it belongs to, and how Barracks managed to speak to them through the commlinks.

"Where's Spinister?" Fulcrum tries his best to sound brave. He knows he doesn't, but he abruptly feels more frightened about the fate of the surgeon than being trapped to Barracks' violent whims.

Barracks rolls back his enormous shoulders. "Somewhere. I didn't really keep track of him. Really, though, I'm surprised to see you like this. Thrilled! But surprised. What, did the rest of the crew leave you like this?"

"No!" he answers angrily. "They're not like _you._"

"Well, I guess it doesn't matter. Does it?" Barracks approaches him, the smile eerily growing wider. "No one is going to be able to find you."

Suddenly, the cuffs around Fulcrum's limbs release and he finds himself tumbling to the floor as he's shoved away. He can hear Gladbag transforming, and he rolls over onto his back to see the Autobot leaping at Barracks. The ex-guard of Styx stumbles back, looking mostly shocked as Gladbag tries to tackle him, although it just ends up being strange to see the medic grabbing onto the larger tank's shoulders and treads. The buzzsaw arm extends out and jams into Barracks' face.

There's a furious and pained snarl from the tank, and he thrashes about, stomping in the room. Fulcrum lets out a short, frightened shriek and manages to get out of the way. Finally, Barracks throws Gladbag off, and Fulcrum watches as the Autobot tumbles across the floor.

"C-C'mon!" Not about to ditch his only line of defense against Barracks, Fulcrum reaches Gladbag, trying to pull him up. "Get up!"

There's a low, enraged roar of Barracks' engine, and Fulcrum stares up, gaping as he feels himself tremble in fear. Where the buzzsaw landed, it's left a giant wound on Barracks' face, from the edge of his left optic down to his jaw. It gushes with energon, and it looks positively painful. Not that Fulcrum has any sympathy for him, but it's hardly enough to stop the tank.

"_Fulcrum_," the tank says, glaring.

Quickly, Fulcrum finds himself being scooped up under Gladbag's arm as the Autobot leaps out from the room. Although a bit slower than the medic, Barracks' angry charge can be seen and heard.

"Not exactly as I hoped things would go," Gladbag admits under a huff of air. "Bear with me."

"Like I have a _choice!_"

Gladbag runs and continues to carry Fulcrum under his arm, eventually stopping as they cross another set of blast doors. Roughly, Fulcrum is deposited back to his feet, and he watches the Autobot open his wrist, inputting a code.

Blast doors slam closed in front of them, cutting Barracks off from them.

"Did you- did you close these before? Back by the entrance to the execution chamber and cells," Fulcrum asks, looking at Gladbag suspiciously.

Gladbag frowns and shakes his head. "No. I only downloaded the access codes for this complex just in case I needed to open anything."

"Then that means..." Barracks. Barracks definitely still has access to Styx. Fulcrum curses and scrapes his fingers over the wall by the blast doors. "These won't hold! He was a guard here. He can get in!"

"Oh." That's hell of a muted response to a really, really bad situation. Either way, Gladbag is peering over him as Fulcrum tries to dig his fingers into the door. "What are you doing?"

"Trying to see if there's a loose panel! If I can hardwire the door, I can keep it closed!"

"Ah." A firm hand goes to Fulcrum's shoulder, pulling him back. "Allow me to help."

The third arm on Gladbag's back extends out, the buzzsaw whirling again. It flicks specks of energon from his earlier attack on Barracks, the blade digging into the wall. Eventually, enough comes apart before Gladbag tears off a piece of the wall, exposing the wires and cables inside.

Just as Fulcrum reaches inside, he struggles to ignore the grating voice on his commlink. "_That won't help you, Fulcrum. I'm coming inside,_" Barracks informs him.

He focuses inside, rearranging the wires, trying to not let panic prevent him from working. "C'mon, c'mon," he whispers to himself.

"_Don't you lay a hand on him,_" Krok growls.

Hearing the voice of his commanding officer surprises him, more than it should. As a tactician, Fulcrum assumes that Krok would have kept dead air on his side, but it seems like Krok's attachment to his crew wins over his military function.

"_Who's going to stop me? Your pathetic little crew? I told you to leave, genericon._"

"I think I got it," Fulcrum whispers, pulling his hands from the wall.

There's a moment of terrifying silence. Fulcrum is frozen in his footsteps as he stares at the blaster doors, halfway expecting them to open with Barracks looming over him. It never happens, though; the doors remain shut.

Then, there's a snarl over the commlink, "_That won't help you. It's only a matter of time. I'll find a way to you._"

Slowly, Fulcrum backs away from the door.

"_I know where you are. I'll know how to find you. I found you at the station, and I found you here._"

"Krok," Fulcrum whispers nervously to his commlink.

"_We're going to get you, and we're going to leave,_" Krok promises.

"He has Spinister's arm," Fulcrum informs him, voice trembling. "I think Spin's in trouble."

A soft curse is heard on the other side of the broadcast. "_Just stay safe._"

With a soft exhale, Fulcrum is met with silence again. Slowly, he wraps his arms around himself. A part of him feels like just collapsing and waiting for Krok and the others, but he can't stand that idea either. It's his fault - _again_ - that they're in such a bad mess. While Barracks isn't quite as bad as the D.J.D., Fulcrum doesn't think he could ever forgive himself if Spinister is dead because of him. At times, he still finds himself regretting what happened with Flywheels, and he'd hardly spent much time with the religious mech.

Gladbag is settling his hands to Fulcrum's shoulders, turning him and walking him towards a wall. He doesn't fight him off, and just lets the medic force him to sit down. However, when he feels the Autobot's fingers digging slightly into his back, Fulcrum squirms a little.

"What the hell are you doing?" Fulcrum snaps irritably.

"Hold still," Gladbag advices, his tone distant. "It appears that your foe is able to find you almost effortlessly, if I heard him right."

Barracks, able to locate him. From Jennix Station to here, and he was able to find Fulcrum in a matter of minutes. He was able to cut him off from Krok and the others.

"He bugged me," Fulcrum concludes, feeling entirely disturbed.

Fingers continue to dig under his plating uncomfortably, but he tries to convince himself that he can trust Gladbag. So he tries to not struggle, sitting tight as the Autobot attempts to locate the tracking device that Barracks must has placed on him.

"So..." Fulcrum peers over his shoulder.

"Stay still," Gladbag repeats, tone bland.

Fulcrum frowns at him. "Have you been here the whole time since that thing with Blithe?"

"More or less. I considered what to do with myself in a post-war life, and I had no answers. I hoped to find them here, actually."

"Uh." That's weird. "Why would an Autobot come to _Styx?_"

"Why would you?" Gladbag asks, his voice becoming a little more cold. "If I understand the archives correctly, very few of the K-Class were reconfigured willingly. What could you hope to find here, Fulcrum?"

"Closure, I guess."

"And that's what I'm looking for as well." There's a pause, then a weary sigh. "I was at Clemency, all those years ago. Not to do battle, although I've done my fair share of fighting. I was helping the medics at that time. All of the Autobots' best and brightest surgeons. I asked myself constantly what the point of it all was. We were nothing but numbers, all of us. Decepticon and Autobot alike. Our names, our faces, our alt-modes - none of it mattered. We became nothing in that span of time, and all that separated anything was who was dead and who was alive."

As he listens, Fulcrum remembers how Krok explained it. How many of the planets had turned out that way, during that point of the war. Where the commanders of the Autobots and Decepticons were calculating and feeding orders. Optimus Prime and Megatron trying to out manoeuver each other.

"When the K-Class first dropped, I watched thousands of Decepticons explode all around us, and thousands of Autobots die." Gladbag finally pulls his hands away. "While I counted the dead before we left Clemency, I realized a bit of me died on that planet as well."

It explains a bit, actually, as to why Gladbag had so quickly recognized his frametype when Blithe and his Autobots invaded the _Weak Anthropic Principle._

"I still don't really get why you're here," Fulcrum admits. "What, are you mad at the K-Class?"

"No," Gladbag responds, leaning over and offering the tracking device to Fulcrum. "I guess I wasn't sure what else to do. I've spent most of the war collecting the dead. Clemency had been the last straw for me. I suppose I hoped that by coming here, I might find something to remind me why I had even taken part in the war."

That's a sentiment that Fulcrum can relate to. Somewhere, along the way, his resolve and his stance in the Decepticons whittled and nearly expired, especially after his conviction and forced modification. It was the scavengers that inspired him again and revived his belief. Gladbag, however, did not have that benefit, and had no qualms about leaving behind his insane, violent crew to Krok and the others.

Something stuck out to him.

"Uh, collecting the dead?" Fulcrum peers at him.

"I'm a pathologist. I _did_ say that I turned into an autopsy table, did I not?"

Oh. Oh, gross, Fulcrum laid down on top of him and he _bets_ that's where all of the autopsies that Gladbag had ever done were and _ew ew ew._

"I kinda assumed you were a medic?" Fulcrum offers.

Gladbag shrugs. "Well. I'm not. I've spent nearly my entire life around dead bodies."

"Um. Yikes." Okay then. Talk about depressing. Fulcrum turns his gaze down to the tracking device. Frankly, he's kind of sorry he even asked.

"Why is that tank after you?"

Fulcrum debates informing him of anything. On one hand? Gladbag _was_ part of a crew that had been set out to probably kill him and the others in likely very terrible ways. On the other hand, Gladbag ditched them and has been _fairly_ helpful for the most part. Even if he's scared Fulcrum out of his wits at least twice so far.

Relenting, Fulcrum gives in. He debates destroying the device in his hand, but he holds that off for now.

"I don't know how familiar you made yourself with the trial system here," Fulcrum starts warily.

"I skimmed the database," Gladbag admits. "Most of them went the same way, no matter the crime. The individual is arrested, then placed into holding until his trial. This could take several weeks to months. Perhaps even years, depending on how many were arrested. The trial system often would include torture until admittance to said crime, pleading guilty. The conviction would then take place, and the convict would be sentenced to death. Method of death would vary, anywhere from slow devouring from scraplets to bleeding out to-"

"Thank you! Thank you for the morbid retelling." Fulcrum winces. "Anyway. During my time here, most of the guards were the same. Bullies, most of the time. Some were worse than others. Barracks was one of the worst. I spent almost an entire year waiting for my trial, and I was often moved from cell to cell, being juggled around to make space for other prisoners. Barracks almost always escorted me and he wasn't exactly polite about it. That's... that's the one who's chasing us."

"I don't need to know more." Gladbag folds his arms. "I suspect he isn't much improved from Blithe and his hobbies."

"No. Not really."

"I don't have much to give, but whatever I have left of them, you have my sympathies."

It isn't much, but it's something. Fulcrum isn't sure he much cares for the fact that the Autobot feels sorry for him - it's a bit irritating, really - but he just sighs and looks down at the tracking device in his hands. They can't stay here, that's the bottom line.

"What do you intend to do with that?" Gladbag asks, tilting his head inquisitively.

"Gonna hang onto it until I can figure out what to do about Barracks." Fulcrum stands up. "For now, I need to find a way back to Krok and the others. Would you help me?"

There's a pause as the undertaker considers, then his blue optics dim before he nods. "I'll do what I can. I'd rather find answers in _peace_, after all."

"Fair enough." Fulcrum rubs the front of his helm. "But as far as I know, I blocked off our only way to get out of this sector. If we try to open the door, Barracks is gonna be there."

"Hiding is perhaps a viable option," Gladbag offers, shrugging.

Briefly, Fulcrum sincerely considers it. Then he exhales and shakes his head. No. He came here to try to put things to rest, to stop being as frightened as he is. As tempting as hiding is, he needs to fix this. He's put everyone else in danger, _again._ Fulcrum needs to fix it himself.

"No," he murmurs, his voice tiny. "I... I need tools. That's what I need."

Gladbag tilts his head, then turns his head. "The execution chamber is your best bet."

"I was hoping you wouldn't say that."

* * *

All of the access codes have been downloaded directly into his core processor. Pinched between two fingers is a data slug. It doesn't have much space to offer, but it contains enough.

Krok peers at the consoles, optics narrowed. Then he takes out his gun; he points and fires at all of the screens and keyboards.

"Just in case," he mutters to himself.

Carefully, he slides the data slug into his arm, hidden away and secure. He peers his head out from the archives room, glancing around. Misfire hasn't returned yet with Grimlock, and he can see why; the hallway is absolutely tarnished from undoubtedly a Dynobot stampede of some kind. All things considered, Grimlock has been relatively tame until now, and considering the warrior's history he didn't anticipate such a reaction. Maybe it was the content of the video, maybe not. Either way, Krok isn't going to spend his time speculating.

No. Right now, he needs to get his crew back together.

Fulcrum is still alive despite being hunted down by a Raider. Spinister is out there, armless. Misfire is trying to calm down an infuriated Dynobot. Crankcase has been left to his own devices. There's still an Autobot to account for in the mess of this as well.

Not a good day.

With a determined pace in his step, Krok starts his trek down the hall after Misfire and Grimlock. Time to get his unit back together again.

It's hard to resist calling them and making sure that everyone is still alive. It's harder to resist a bit of panic. Krok is _not_ comfortable with how split up they are with blockades and enemies around.

The hallway is twisted in some ways, as if Grimlock couldn't decide how exactly to mark his rage. There are claw marks scraping up the floor and patches of scorched metal to show where he had breathed fire. Then there are dents to show his fury while in root mode, and the pattern continues in that way.

Must have been a hell of a thing for Misfire to follow.

Krok comes across the display window for the execution chamber again, peering out into it briefly. Something was different-

Oh. Pit.

There's a trail of energon leading up to an injured mech, and he can see Spinister struggling to stand. Optics are flickering, clearly trying to remain online. Krok is doubtful that it's due to a missing limb - they've all had worse - but rather due to depleted energon.

"**_Spinister!_**" Krok can't just pass on and keep working to get to everyone. He can't help but find himself hitting the glass, hoping the surgeon can hear him thumping for his attention.

It works. Spinister is good at noticing noises. He turns his head, at first with anger at the sound disturbing him, then immediately relaxes at the sight of his commanding officer.

Krok presses his hand flat against the glass, fighting off any feeling of desperation. He wishes he could just break open the glass and get to his medic, but that isn't possible; the glass is far too durable. As much as he hates it, Spinister has to wait.

"I'm coming to get you," Krok promises, regardless of whether or not Spinister can hear him.

As if things weren't already urgent, Krok finds himself running down the hallway.

The walls almost tremble as he can hear Grimlock roar in the distance.

* * *

Warily, Fulcrum glances over his shoulder. That's a noise that he recognizes easily.

"Grimlock?" he murmurs. Honestly, Fulcrum can't help but worry, even though he probably has nothing to fear when it comes to the Dynobot's safety. He's durable, large, and strong. There's no way Barracks would stand a chance against him. But in a lot of ways, he can't help but fret a little over Grimlock. It's complicated.

Still, he wonders why Grimlock asked to come with him. Because he was also worried? Or something else? It just seemed strange that Grimlock had enough self-awareness to _ask_ to do something like that. Fulcrum isn't really sure what to make it of that. On one hand, Grimlock's brain damage makes it easy enough to be around him. He's docile, a little more intelligent than animal in most occasions. On the other hand? Fulcrum can't help but pity the poor Autobot and wonder if there's something he could do to improve his mental state.

Which is a dangerous thought. Fulcrum suspects that, unfortunately, if Grimlock ever went back to normal? He'd probably just kill all of them.

Yet, here he is silently worrying about the Dynobot like he's some big dumb newly sparked Cybertronian. Sheesh.

"I still don't know what to make of him being on your ship." Gladbag raises an optical ridge. "Though I suppose it's none of my business."

"It's not," Fulcrum tells him firmly.

The pathologist shrugs, acknowledging the statement and insisting nothing else.

Each step that they take through the complex is still filled with dread every movement Fulcrum takes. Clutched in his hand is still the tracking device, knowing that it's still signalling off to Barracks. He wants to crush it, but he can't yet. Not yet.

A hand goes to Fulcrum's chest, Gladbag silently signalling him to go still. He turns to a small storage closet, entering a code before it slides open; the Autobot nods to the closet.

"Most of it's full of tools meant for torture, considering their design or remodification, but I suspect whatever it is that you're looking to do might be in here." Gladbag gestures vaguely to the closet before stepping back.

Warily, Fulcrum approaches it, glancing inside. Set up along shelves and drawers are a series of equipment. Most of it is rusted over, splattered with old, dried energon. A brief shudder moves through his body as he remembers too well about the other executions. At times, other prisoners would be forced to watch.

To remind them. To know what to expect.

He tries to steel himself, reaching in and taking what he needs with quivering hands. When he's done, he backs away, as if the closet had bitten him.

Squinting down at the K-Con, Gladbag remarks, "You have... a condenser and a solderer."

"It's enough." Fulcrum tips his head down as he starts to focus on the tracking device in his hand, starting to pry it open as gently as he can with the end of the condenser. "We're still stuck, though. And I-I expect that Barracks will find a way to get to us."

"I suggest we find a way to make a stand, then. Two against one should be doable."

There's a soft snort from Fulcrum. "Did you _not_ ever take note of what kind of person I am?"

"I watched you stand up to Blithe and the others on your ship when it was invaded." Gladbag shrugs. "No. I don't know you well, K-Con, but I know enough."

"He was strong enough to tear off Spinister's arm and ditch him. Spinister did some damage, but not much. And his face is all fragged up, which at least might mean his sight isn't great." Fulcrum sighs as he considers. "We could probably hold him off until the others finally catch up with us somehow."

Not that it feels like a very intelligent plan at all. Fulcrum doesn't feel strong or fearless; he feels just as cowardly as ever. If it came down to his life or Gladbag's, he feels like he would probably leave the Autobot behind. Though if it was Krok or Misfire or... or any of the others, that would be different, he supposes. _They_ are what make him feel brave.

But he has no other choice. They need to find a way to protect themselves.

With great reluctance, Fulcrum finds that they both are stepping into the main execution chamber. As Gladbag walks just a bit ahead of him, it allows Fulcrum to bear witness to what happens next: a dark colored mech slams his entire body weight into the pathologist, knocking him to the floor. What allows him to be quickly recognizable is the rotor on his back and the missing arm.

"Spinister!" Fulcrum calls out, optics wide.

Medic and undertaker wrestle on the floor for a moment, Spinister's engine snarling loudly while Gladbag narrows his optics. Slipping out from his back is the third arm, buzzsaw whirling in threat as it aims for Spinister's neck, and the sharp edge of the surgeon's rotor is starting to come down for Gladbag's face.

"Don't hurt him!"

Spinister looks up at the K-Con, frowning. The buzzsaw just stops short of his neck, its rotations slowing. Pulling his body weight back, Spinister slumps onto the floor on his aft, grunting.

After sighing in relief, Fulcrum goes to Spinister's side. "You're still leaking from your arm."

"Was looking for you guys, but I got all turned around." Spinister peers over Fulcrum, glaring at Gladbag. "That guy's face looks kinda familiar."

"Look, don't worry about that right now, Spin." Fulcrum rests a hand to the medic's shoulder. "Gladbag, can you fix him?"

"I'm not much of a doctor," Gladbag advises warily. "I should be able to stop the leak, though."

"That's all that I'm asking for." The K-Con lightly taps Spinister's shoulder for his attention. "Look, Spin. Listen to me carefully. Unless he attacks you, don't hurt Gladbag. Okay? I'm going to try to find Krok and everyone else."

There's almost a dubious look from Spinister, though for what reason Fulcrum can't decide. There are times he's genuinely terrified of the trigger happy surgeon, but he's fixed up Fulcrum more than once. That and he feels like they, unfortunately, probably have a few things in common, considering the Raiders. Regardless, he isn't sure how to determine the gaze Spinister is giving him.

Eventually, there's a nod. "Yeah, okay. Can you try to get my arm back, too? It's a pretty good arm and I won't be able to make one like it."

"Sure. Sure, I'll try." Fulcrum smiles hesitantly. "Hang in there, Spin."

As he stands up, Gladbag carefully kneels down by Spinister. The Autobot looks at the tracking device in Fulcrum's hand, then up to lock his optics with the K-Classer. "Are you certain that this is what you want to do?"

Slowly, Fulcrum nods. "Spinister needs the help and I'm not qualified for it. Besides, if I stay..."

There's a pause, then Gladbag nods once. "I understand. I'll try to make sure we stay out of the way, then."

All that Fulcrum feels that he can say is, "Yep."

What else is there to say? It's better if Spinister is out of the way of Barracks' path. It's better if all of them stay out of it.

Primus knows Fulcrum's brought enough complications to the scavengers. Between this and the Decepticon Justice Division? _Pit_, he actually feels guilty.

And mostly? Mostly, he'd just like to stay and hide behind both of them, for all of the good it would do him. Instead, his body trembles as he turns away from both of them. Pacing himself, he steps away, heading further into the execution chamber. He tries his best to just focus on the tracking device on his hand, still working away on it with the meager tools he has.

It always seemed enormous then while he was still a prisoner, and it still seems large now. Fulcrum remembers what it was like before the order came in for the K-Class. Prior to his sentence, he'd been pulled over into the chamber, forced to watch one of the other prisoners be executed. Watched him slowly smelt to death, his plating melt away, and gurgled screaming. Fulcrum had purged his tanks then.

The guards laughed. Barracks just smiled.

Eventually, his own sentence came in. The traitor's wheel.

At each continued step, Fulcrum's feet start to feel heavier and heavier. A stifled whimper is choked down and he knows what to anticipate as he enters the next room.

For Fulcrum's execution, it was in a confined room, because he hated confined spaces anyway. He'd screamed at first, and it had been a source of entertainment for the guards of Styx. To them, it had been a reward when the shrieks broke away into pleading sobs and pained moans.

Fulcrum tries to not look at it, still propped up and abandoned. Instead, he looks around in the room, trying to determine what to do. On the ceiling is a ventilation shaft, and below that...

Below that is the traitor's wheel. Rusted over, still stained with his energon. The spikes are still attached to it, and he remembers how they turned and turned to gradually pull him apart. Down below, there was a drain for his bleeding energon and the previous prisoners that were executed before he was supposed to be.

Fulcrum forgets about the device in his hands and feels himself shaking.

"You had a better paint job then."

The only thing that Fulcrum feels proud of is that he doesn't scream. He immediately whirls around to try to run out the way he came, but the door slams shut. It locks immediately.

He stands frozen for a moment as he stares helplessly at the locked door. Fulcrum debates shouting for Spinister and Gladbag for help.

Instead, he looks over his shoulder, looking at the looming Raider standing in the room with him. The enormous gaping wound in Barracks' face is still drooling with energon, running down his face, but Barracks doesn't react to it, not voluntarily. There are small spasms and flinches, but otherwise, he acts as if there is nothing wrong. Not in the least.

"The door was locked," Fulcrum manages say, in reference the wiring he'd done.

Barracks snorts a little. "You don't think Styx had a series of emergency doors? We were dealing with traitors, after all. Not all of them were weak, like you."

Traitors. The irony doesn't escape Fulcrum. He himself still wears the symbol proudly, yet Barracks abandoned it, trading it in for a life of pirating and pillaging the weak. It's true to his personality.

For just a brief moment, they stare at each other. Fulcrum is cornered, Barracks smugly knows it, and he has nothing he can do.

So it seems.

Fulcrum lunges forward, dashing to try to make it to the traitor's wheel. Although big and powerful, Barracks is not quick and that's what Fulcrum is counting on; he manages to evade the tank's grab, scrambling up the side of the torturous execution device. Using the spikes as leverage, he grabs for the ventilation shaft, tearing off the grate. Once he snags onto the edge of the shaft, he feels a hand grab onto his ankle.

_Now_ he lets out a shriek of surprise, his other foot kicking out as he tries to get away. He looks down, seeing Barracks' face formed with a broad smile of satisfaction. There's no way that he can fight off the tank's strength, and he gives a panicked yelp as he's yanked down further, too close! Fulcrum struggles, his throat clenching up and being the only reason why he doesn't scream as he's pulled down from the shaft.

Barracks laughs.

"_**Get off of me!**_" Fulcrum shouts, his tone struggling to find some balance between the fear claiming his sensors and attempting to sound fierce. Whipping around, he slaps the tracking device onto Barracks' arm.

It'd been reworked but incomplete. He is a _technician_ and no matter the reconfiguration he still always will be, his curious mind finding ways to reprogram and repurpose material. It's what he was doing as project manager, and it's what he'd done now. Fulcrum watches as Barracks bellows in pain, an electrical shock coursing through his body. It'll be a brief explosion of volts, but it's enough that Barracks has let go of him, as well as Spinister's severed arm.

He clutches the limb immediately, stumbling to scale the traitor's wheel again. As fast as he can go, Fulcrum practically throws himself into the ventilation duct.

"There's only one place that goes!" Barracks calls after him, his voice tight with frustration. "And I'll be there when you reach it!"

Nervously, Fulcrum works his way through the ducts, his body partly curled around Spinister's arm. "Krok!" he whispers into the commlink, voice trembling. "Someone?! I-I'm in the vents! I don't know where I'm going! Please-"

"_Where did you go in?_" Krok answers. He sounds fairly calm. It's a good comfort to have.

"From the execution chamber. Where the traitor's wheel was. I, um. I have Spinister's arm, so he can't hear us."

"_Good. I'm pulling up the map right now._"

Internally, he begs for Krok to hurry as he continues to crawl clumsily through the vents. Eventually, he hears his commanding officer inform him, "_The prison cells. I've been trying to chase down your rusting Dynobot, but if that's the case, I'm heading over to the cells myself. Crankcase, if you can hear us, get your aft over there._"

It makes some horrifying sense to him, that the ventilation shaft is designed this way. Not really for a flow of air in mind, but rather to let sound travel from the execution chamber to the cells. He remembers the noises. He never questioned the technical aspect of _why_.

It'd just been in the design.

Finally, as he makes it to the other side of the vents, Fulcrum peers down. With the limited range of sight, all he can guess is that Barracks may not be there yet.

Or he's waiting for him.

Either way, he doesn't have whole lot of a choice. Fulcrum is, effectively, trapped and cornered. Steeling himself for whatever is to come, Fulcrum shoves the vent open before dropping down to the floor below.

The prison cells are set up in such a way that they're almost stacked up on each other, facing just a blank wall. They would never face each other, and they would have little way of contact. Not that Fulcrum had ever really any desire to converse with another convict; several of them were just as bad as the guards. Still, the way it was all positioned ensured a lack of confidence for escape.

Styx was a void, stealing any intention of having a future.

"Glitch mouse, where do you think you can scurry off to?"

As if it was somehow going to protect him, Fulcrum clutches the limb closer to himself. He turns slowly, having no choice but to see Barracks standing in the way of the only other exit. The door, in fact, shuts tight behind the tank.

"It's locked. You have nowhere else to go."

The truth settles in and Fulcrum almost feels like collapsing. At every step closer that Barracks takes, he keeps himself from making a sound, hoping that someone will show, someone will do _something._ He has little else left to rely upon, and for the briefest moment he wonders, truly questions himself on whether or not anyone will come for him.

But if there's one thing he should know, it is Krok's loyalty, and his ability to inspire it.

Behind Barracks, the door opens suddenly and the tank stumbles forward as he's shot in the back. It's a brief glimpse, but Fulcrum can see Krok behind the former guard of Styx, aiming and shooting his rifle. If the shots do anything to Barracks, it's not apparent as he stands up and lets out a furious roar of his engine. He turns and unleashes a powerful punch to the war historian's midsection, sending him careening out of the room.

"Krok!" Fulcrum calls after him in a panic, momentarily forgetting about his own safety as he tries to dodge around Barracks and get to him. He lets out a shrill of dread, feet kicking out as the back of his neck is grabbed onto by the tank.

"Really, I'm truly baffled why anyone would come to save your aft," Barracks growls, "but if that's all that you have-"

Behind both of them, the wall almost seems to burst open, which seems accurate enough considering the fact that as Fulcrum tries to look over his shoulder, it looks like a shuttle crashed inside. The front of it opens, revealing an _incredibly_ put out Crankcase, holding up his gun as he fires twice at Barracks.

A pained snarl is twisted out of the Raider, his shoulder impacted by the blasts as Fulcrum is dropped to the ground again. Quickly, he scrambles away to run after his commanding officer.

"Krok?!" Fulcrum kneels down and sets Spinister's arm aside, then shakes the tactician's shoulder. "Krok!"

"Fine. I'm fine." Krok grumbles and peers down at himself, particularly towards his recently punched abdomen. "Hmph, that's dented."

"I'm sorry, I'm-"

Krok narrows his optics. "Save it. We don't have time to talk about who ought to be apologizing for what."

"Okay," Fulcrum mumbles out. He looks up nervously towards the prison cells, silently fretting over the mechanic. "If... if we head back towards the execution chamber, I think we can make it back towards Spinister and Gladbag."

Briefly, Krok spares him a baffled look by the mention of the Autobot, then snorts and shakes his head. Now, clearly, is not the time for questions. "It's for the best. We need strength in numbers right now. You get going, I'll follow."

Fulcrum jerks his head back. "But- I...?"

Spinister's arm is shoved back into Fulcrum's hands and Krok scowls at him. "That's an order, soldier. Move it!"

For a moment, he debates that order, because he can't bear the idea of leaving behind Crankcase or Krok. Because they came back for him, and this time? This time, he doesn't want to run away. He wants to stay, because they deserve better.

"With all due respect, Krok, we're better off sticking together." Fulcrum's voice still shakes with fear, but he knows what he's chosen.

He won't run again. Not without them.

"Rust and scrap!" Crankcase spits as he runs out. "I am _not_ a fan of tankers as this rate!"

"Well, you and me both." Fulcrum pulls Krok to his feet. "C'mon!"

As all three of them start to make their way back towards the execution chamber, Fulcrum can hear Barracks start to barrel after them. Probably the only reason that he can guess that Barracks doesn't just transform into his alt-mode and destroy them is that he doesn't want the K-Con dead. The others don't matter, not to the Raider.

It's tempting to look over his shoulder, but he knows that there's no point. He feels the pounding steps of the enormous mech behind them, following, letting out a thunderous roar from his engine that promises to corner them soon enough.

Blocking their way is another closed door. This one that Fulcrum knows no amount of access codes will open, considering he'd hardwired it closed.

"_Pit!_" Fulcrum hisses. "I forgot about- we're stuck!"

"Fantastic," Crankcase growls. "I hope you know that if I die first, I'm haunting your aft."

Behind the closed door, he can hear something. Something like the guttural snarl that undoubtedly belongs to a Dynobot.

Fulcrum places his hand to the door. "Grimlock?!"

There are two sets of heavy footsteps. The charge from Barracks, and the stomp of one impatient, furious Autobot.

Desperately, he shouts for him. "_Grimlock!_"

The sealed doors are meant to prevent prisoners from breaking them down, escaping. Yet, he recognizes a fist tearing through the metal, and Grimlock tears it open. Immediately, he reaches in and grabs for Fulcrum, who lets out a surprised yelp as he's carried off by the Dynobot.

Peering nervously over Grimlock's shoulder, he watches Crankcase and Krok scramble through the gaping hole in the door, just in time as Barracks continues his charge. As they hurry, Grimlock continues an impatient, perpetual growl in his systems.

Finally, they make it back to the execution chamber. Fulcrum can see Gladbag kneeling by a slumped over Spinister. Panic and worry fills him, and Fulcrum squirms in Grimlock's hold. Misfire is, thankfully, close by as well.

The Dynobot warrior drops him by them, engine rumbling before he says, "You Fulcrum, stay."

"Grimlock-" Fulcrum looks after him nervously as the warrior takes off. "Grimlock, be careful!"

"You know, there was never a day I thought I was ever gonna hear one of us say those words?" Misfire offers with a half-grin. "Glad to see you in one piece, pinhead. Can't say the same for Spin, though."

"Is he okay?" Fulcrum crouches by the unconscious surgeon.

"He's low on fuel reserves. He bled out a lot of energon," Gladbag responds. "He'll live, assuming we can find him any fuel."

As Fulcrum touches Spinister's shoulder, he glances back towards Misfire, addressing him with, "How the hell did you and Grimlock end up in here, anyway?"

Strangely silent, all Misfire does is point. Following the direction with his optics, Fulcrum sees what used to be the viewing window. It was meant to be impenetrable, of course, much like several other things in the entire complex. The window in which he and Grimlock stood briefly to speak, though he isn't sure if that had any impact on Grimlock's outrage and need to find him. In any case, he's immensely grateful for the Dynobot's strength and memory of the K-Con.

He watches Barracks fly across the room as Grimlock throws him, an enraged howl emitting from the Autobot. "Me Grimlock smash _**stupid tank!**_"

Just as the Raider starts to push himself back up, Grimlock leaps from a crouch, landing on top of the struggling ex-Decepticon. Relentlessly, Grimlock pounds his fists over Barracks, and there's a thrilling sense of satisfaction in Fulcrum. The fear remains, but he's elated by the strange group of comrades he's acquired, scavengers and Dynobot and all.

There's a familiar clicking noise and he watches Barracks transform into his alt-mode. Dread hums in Fulcrum's circuits as he watches his cannons level with Grimlock, shooting him pointblank in the chest. The impact thrusts the Dynobot across the room, hitting the wall.

"Grimlock!" Fulcrum almost runs after him, but he feels Gladbag's hands come down to his shoulders, keeping him there.

Transforming back to his root mode, Barracks sneers, "What _else_ do you have?"

"Shoot him!" Krok commands, as he once again opens fire.

"Like you even _need_ to say it!" Crankcase comments, grimacing.

As Barracks begins to turn his attention towards the two of them, Fulcrum jerks as he watches Misfire take off suddenly, his thrusters coming online. It's then that in the mess of things that he notices what's in Misfire's hands: stasis cuffs.

One cuff snaps over the Raider's wrist, but the other doesn't quite make it. Barracks peers down at Misfire, then backhands him away. The jet tumbles across the floor, and Fulcrum finally tears himself out of Gladbag's hold, finding his hands grabbing up Spinister's dropped rotor.

Despite all sense and any need to protect himself, Fulcrum stands in front of Misfire, who's struggling to get his senses back from the powerful strike. Despite how much Crankcase and Krok are shooting up Barracks' treads, the Raider still looms over the technician and jet.

"I am mystified by your sudden spinal strut, glitch mouse," Barracks muses. "Aren't you scared?"

"Not as scared as you're about to be," Fulcrum promises, clutching the oversized rotor tightly in his hands.

A blast of fire hits Barracks in the back, Grimlock now in his beast form, jaws gaping open. Stomping closer, the stream of fire stops, and he snaps his toothy mouth over Barracks' head, chewing and biting, growling all the while. Barracks curses and struggles with the Dynobot. It gives Fulcrum enough time to get closer, with Misfire sputtering his name after him. The technician is able to use the end of the rotary blade to shove the end of the stasis cuffs up, enough so that the other end of the cuff snaps closed over Barracks' other wrist, causing him to go completely limp.

Realizing that there's sudden extra dead weight in his mouth, Grimlock drops the tank and steps back transforming to his root mode. Barracks lands onto his back, gritting his teeth. His head is disfigured from both Gladbag's buzzsaw and now Grimlock's powerful jaws and sharp teeth. Plating is scarred and shot from the rest of his fellow unit.

Yet, it's not enough.

Maybe it'll never be enough.

He doesn't think about it. All that happens is that he can hear himself suddenly screaming, swinging down the blade in his hands onto the helm of his ex-guard. The former prisoner of Styx cries out in fear, despair, and fury as he continues to swing the weapon down, over and over, onto the face that he remembers from this place.

It's not enough, still, when he loses the strength to hold the blade, because he is physically weak. He will always be weaker than others, and he has no choice but to rely on everyone else.

Fulcrum sinks to his knees, shaking, wishing he could stop being so afraid.

* * *

Ultimately, it was his idea.

No one mocked him or teased him during the breakdown, and he's glad. No one's nosy. Maybe no one cares, and Fulcrum feels like he's okay with that too. All in all, he just doesn't want to be coddled right at the moment. But he's proud, at least, that he'd determined this. With the stasis cuffs on, Barrack's is helpless. He isn't silent, but he's helpless. With his face as deformed as it is, he can't speak, but he can scream.

And so when Krok gives Misfire permission to siphon Barracks of most of his fuel, that's what he does. Fulcrum sits and watches him siphon and he listens to Barracks scream. Satisfaction curls inside of him, and he doesn't care what Gladbag must be thinking or feeling. It doesn't matter. Nothing matters while he revels in the suffering of the Raider.

"This is what you want?" Krok asks him next, when Misfire is done retrieving the energon.

"Yeah. Yeah it is," Fulcrum confirms.

It doesn't take him long to find his own cell. Grimlock has no problem carrying Barracks over his shoulder, following Fulcrum's lead. There, Barracks is deposited.

"Open his mouth," Fulcrum orders the Dynobot.

Unquestionably, Grimlock does it, prying the Raider's mouth open. Fulcrum rests a hand to Grimlock's forearm in silent thanks.

Shuffling up behind him is Misfire, who places a device into his hand. "Think this is it. Yeah, pretty sure it is. Though I guess you'd know, huh?"

"Mm-hmm. Thank you." Fulcrum looks down at it, then nods. He holds it over Barracks's optics. "Do you know what this is? This is the payload that every single member of the K-Class were forced to have. These people _removed_ it from me. I know it wasn't out of kindness; it was to save themselves. But you know what? They have done more for me than anyone ever has. So to think that _you_ would ever lay a hand on them repulses me, Barracks. I'm going to put this in here-" With a small grunt, Fulcrum shoves the explosive into the open mouth. "-and when I feel like it, it'll detonate. It'll kill you. And no one will care."

Once Grimlock releases the tank, they leave the cell. Fulcrum sees the fear in Barracks' optics as he shuts the door closed, locking it.

He enjoys it.

In his hand, he clutches the detonator, and Fulcrum turns away. He doesn't look back as he rolls the detonator in his palm, not triggering it yet. Not yet.

They regroup in the landing pad. There's a distrustful gaze that Krok gives Gladbag; the pathologist simply looks back at him with an air of detachment, unconcerned with just about anything at the moment.

"I suppose," Krok grates out, holding out his hand stiffly, "that I should thank you for reattaching Spinister's arm and refuelling him."

"I didn't appreciate him trying to beat my face in when he woke up," Gladbag replies calmly, taking Krok's hand politely. "But you're welcome."

"We'll leave you alive for what you did."

"Then out of courtesy, I thank you." Gladbag nods to him, and their hands release. Slowly, he turns to Fulcrum. "Did you find what you were looking for here?"

For a moment, Fulcrum is silent. His gaze falls to the detonator in his hand, then he sighs. "I. I don't know. What about you, Gladbag?"

"I don't think that I did. And I'm not certain either of our answers were meant to be found here." The pathologist holds out a data slug. "I would like it if you took this."

A wary scowl forms on Krok's face as Fulcrum accepts it. "What is it?"

"Coordinates. Supposedly, to a neutral settlement. I've had it for a few decades, so who is to say that the location is still accurate, or if the Cybertronians who created it are still there after the war?" Gladbag shrugs. "But it's where I think I'm going to go. If you should ever decide that you need somewhere to be, I would do what I can to make you feel welcome."

"Um." Fulcrum squints at him. "You were chased around with me in an abandoned prison by a psychopathic ex-Decepticon and then you witnessed us pretty much torture him while draining him for fuel. Fuel that you used for Spinister. Also, I'm going to basically murder him in a few minutes. I think I'm a little confused here."

Gladbag tilts his head. "For what it's worth, I value the aspect that your crew did everything they could to protect you. And I already knew you'd do anything to protect them. Whether I think what you and your crew did with the Raider was right or wrong doesn't really matter."

"If you say so."

No other words are exchanged as Fulcrum watches Gladbag return to his own shuttle. There are no good-byes. There isn't anything pleasant. Just the assurance that Barracks' life is in his hand right now.

The trigger is still yet not pulled.

Krok's hand rests on Fulcrum's shoulder, and the K-Con is guided back to the ship. Fulcrum finds himself standing in the cargo bay, giving Styx one last look as the doors shut. Slowly, he sinks to the floor, and the quaking in his body returns.

He says nothing. A whimper squeezes out when he feels Misfire sit next to him. It's a comfort, but it feels far away and all he can do is curl against the jet. He can't look at him, he can't talk to him. Perhaps pathetically, Fulcrum wants to cry out and dwell.

Instead, he tries to grit his teeth and focus on ahead.

Fulcrum clutches the detonator in his hands and he pulls the trigger.


End file.
